


witch's brew

by sinequanon



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Teen Wolf (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Originals (TV), The Vampire Diaries & Related Fandoms
Genre: Allison Argent & Stiles Stilinski Are Twins, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Lydia Martin & Stiles Stilinski are Twins, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Memory Alteration, Multi, Post-Nogitsune, Reincarnation, Stiles Leaves Beacon Hills, Stiles is Pushed Out of the Pack, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-08
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2018-09-30 16:30:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 24,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10167188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinequanon/pseuds/sinequanon
Summary: Here's another set of stories likelistening for echoes. Each of these is open-ended, usually because they are parts of larger fics that I chose not to finish.3: Things change for Stiles and Allison after the nogitsune. (MCU/Avengers cross)4: After Derek kicks him out, Stiles goes to live with his cousin Caroline. (TVD/TO cross)5: Stiles and Lydia capture the Originals' attention; but that's only the beginning of the story. (TVD/TO cross)6: Damon has a secret that he would die to keep, and it's one that will change Elijah's life forever. (TVD/TO cross)7: When Stiles and the girls are forced out of Beacon Hills, they wind up in New Orleans. (Originals cross)8: Stiles is betrayed by his pack and ends up across the country with a group of superheroes. (MCU cross)9: After leaving Beacon Hills, Stiles runs into someone he's not supposed to talk to. (Originals cross)10: Scott can't bring himself to forgive Stiles after the nogitsune. (Originals cross)11: The Pack really shouldn’t have tampered with Stiles’s memory. (Originals cross)8/28/18: Added chapter 11





	1. unseen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles has died just as much as he's lived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Tags: Original Stiles Stilinski, Reincarnation

Sweat dripped down Stiles’s back as he jogged through his neighborhood. He was lucky it was still early summer, because the early morning, while warm, didn’t make him want to curl up and die of heat exhaustion after going ten feet. Stiles would like to say that he jogged because he enjoyed staying in shape, but honestly, he only did it in order to better get away from whatever near-death experience was following him at the moment. He knew a gruesome end was inevitable, but it didn’t mean he had to run toward it with open arms.

He wasn't being macabre either, just realistic, because he _had_ died. A lot.

Performing his spell in conjunction with his mother's all those centuries ago had created an unexpected side effect for Stiles. He was still a witch, still as powerful as before, but he wasn’t immortal. The spell killed him; that wasn’t a surprise. The surprising thing was that, fifteen years later, he “woke up” in the body of a young man dying of starvation in southern France, only to die again four months later. He woke again in the 1150s, in time to die as a Crusader in Damascus. He seemed to wake up once a century, live a short while (or a very short while), and die prematurely. In 1348, he was a fifteen-year-old physician’s apprentice trying to ease the suffering of those who were infected with what would become known as the Black Death. He helped those around him for three years, easing their suffering with medicine and magic, before succumbing to the disease near the end of the epidemic.

He consoled himself with the thought that at least he had outlasted the doctor.

In 1532, Stiles came into his memories as a toddler in Florence. He grew up in prosperity under Medici rule, and lived a full life until he died in his early 40s. He regretted not having a family of his own, and missed his siblings terribly, but didn’t know how anyone new might be affected by his curse, so he didn't risk it.

It was during his life in Italy that Stiles first met the family that would become his caretakers. He had come, quite by accident, across a young girl lost in the forest, and had seen her to her home. The family was grateful, and when the grandmother suddenly declared that Stiles would die five days later, he found himself telling them his life’s story. The family (which turned out to be full of witches) kept him safe, and appointed him a “knight”, to protect him as much as possible. They told him shocking, heartbreaking, and hopeful stories of his family through the centuries, and recruited other families to silently watch over his siblings. Their love and acceptance was much more than Stiles could have ever hoped for. For the first time, he died surrounded by people who loved him.

After his full life, it seemed the curse was reset with a vengeance. Now, instead of one life per century, he would live two, or three. Sometimes, he wouldn’t be in a body long enough to meet a knight. In the 1600s, he was burned in Germany for witchcraft and died during a volcanic eruption at Vesuvius. He woke up in July of 1863 in a small town in Pennsylvania and died twelve hours later in the Battle at Gettysburg. Other lives were just as violent: he’d been stabbed, poisoned, hung, and drowned over the years.

His current life, as a teenager in Beacon Hills, was only the second time that he had actually lived normally, where he’d had the chance, at least for a while, to be a kid and make plans for the future. Stiles sometimes thought, if only to himself, that it was sad that werewolves fell into the “normal” column of his existence.

Stiles had known his knight in this lifetime since he was six years old: Jackson Whittemore. The adoptive son of a wealthy Beacon Hills family, Jackson looked like the quintessential self-absorbed jock by the majority of the town. In reality, Stiles had taken one look at the shy boy hiding behind Mrs. Whittemore the day the family had come to pledge fealty, and immediately declared Jackson his knight. It didn’t matter that Jackson was Stiles’s age and had no training in the position; Stiles thought that they would do just fine protecting each other.

Unfortunately, as the boys got older, Jackson realized that friend and protector didn’t necessarily go hand in hand. He pulled away from Stiles, being needlessly cruel, until Stiles didn’t acknowledge his knight at all. Jackson’s parents understood that he was trying to protect his friend, even if they didn’t agree with his choice. Stiles simply avoided Jackson as best he could and pretended that they’d never been friends at all.

Shaking himself out of his reverie, Stiles realized that he had run all the way to the local diner—surely his hard work (and trip down horrible memory lane) deserved some curly fries?

None of his friends other than Scott knew that Stiles was a thousand-year-old witch living in a teenager’s body. His parents may have called him an old soul, and he suspected his grandmother Hanna knew more than she was letting on, but Stiles knew better than to mention his past lives to others. He had told Scott when they were eight and Stiles slowly watched his mother die; Scott had been horrified when Stiles had morosely commented that there were worse ways to die than dementia, and then provided multiple personal examples.

When Scott became a werewolf, Stiles used his knowledge to guide his best friend. Stiles had gathered a significant pool of knowledge over the years, despite the brevity of most of his lives, and he was perfectly willing to use it to protect the people he loved. His personal grimoire was kept safe by the Whittemore family, and the fact that he retained memories from each of his lives was, in this case, a plus. Stiles helped Scott deal with the other werewolves in the area, the Hales, while largely retaining his autonomy as a lone wolf. Stiles stood by his friend during the Allison drama, Jackson’s brief stint as the kanima, and the threat of the alpha pack. He stayed out of the darach business (although he may have given suggestions here and there), but he helped Lydia discover her banshee powers and orchestrated Erica and Boyd’s escape from Gerard (though there were a few moments in that basement that he thought _his_ life was over). He even talked Derek out of cutting his arm off when it looked like he was going to die of wolfsbane poisoning (Stiles had seen way too many amputations go horribly wrong to ever recommend that as a medical procedure). He hadn’t had a lot of contact with the other Hales: Talia, the alpha; her husband William; and their daughters Laura and Cora; but Stiles felt like he had made a significant effort in protecting the population of Beacon Hills.

Stiles thought of his lost friendship with Jackson, and how much the other boy’s support had meant to him. He thought about the rest of their pack, and the Hale pack, and all of the other friends he had made over the years. Was it fair to tell his friends, his dad, that he probably wouldn’t be alive in five years? Would it comfort them to know that he was dying for a noble cause? That the impending arrival of the Original family would likely hasten his death? Stiles had never once regretted dying for his family, and, if he had to, he wouldn’t regret dying for his pack, either. A part of him wanted to say something, to take comfort in his loved ones, but…this was his burden to bear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this story comes from the poem "Ode on Solitude" by Alexander Pope.
> 
> This was part of a larger story I was writing that didn't work out for reasons I can't remember, but I liked this part well enough to post it here.
> 
> As for the larger collection, I'm trying to decide if I should just add to this periodically, or to post them all consecutively like I did with _listening for echoes_. Let me know if you have a preference.
> 
> I'm not sure what I'll post next week, but I'll see you then.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	2. life renewed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Under Jennifer's influence, the pack leaves Beacon Hills (and Stiles) behind. When they go back, nothing is quite as they expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Tags: Canon Divergence, Stiles is Pushed Out of the Pack, implied Katherine Pierce/Stiles Stilinski.

By the time the spell was broken, eight years had passed and the pack had been living in Mexico for most of that time. In fact, they’d probably still be living there if Jennifer hadn't gotten restless with their self-imposed isolation and started killing again.

It was a lot harder to ignore the signs this time, and when Allison accidentally came across the darach with one of her victims, the hunter reacted entirely on instinct, not knowing who she was fighting.

It was only after Jennifer was dead that Allison realized who she had killed. Initially, the pack grieved. Derek had lost a wife, and the rest, a friend; they thought that perhaps Jennifer had been enchanted, or manipulated in such a way to make her look guilty. Unfortunately, going through Jennifer's things painted an entirely different picture of the woman they thought they knew. By the time everything was settled, they grieved for an entirely different reason.

Scott started talking almost immediately about going back to Beacon Hills, but that was easier said than done. At Jennifer's suggestion, the Hale land had long since been sold, and everyone had jobs and friends and other connections that needed to be dealt with before they could move back to California.

Over the next few months, the pack talked often about the place they had left behind. Speculation about Stiles became a frequent topic of conversation--whether he became a deputy, if he was still controlling his dad's diet, whether he and Deaton become friends with the rest of them gone. They all knew that it would take Stiles time to forgive them for the things that the pack (and Derek in particular) had said to him, but they’d make it up to him even if they had to camp outside his window every night.

The Hale pack rolled back into town on a hot July evening almost nine years after they had left. Everyone started calling their respective parents, while Derek guided the group toward the vet’s office where Deaton was waiting for them.

“Derek,” he greeted warmly, embracing Scott and nodding to everyone else. “It's good to see everyone looking so well. Is this just a visit, or are you planning to stay?”

“We want to stay,” the alpha said distractedly. He’d thought Stiles would be here. Maybe he was working? “Is there any way we can get my family's land back?”

Deaton's lips curled the tiniest bit upwards. “Things were tough for awhile, with no pack to protect the territory. Stiles reached out, made contacts, and between him, his father, and Chris Argent, they managed to take control of Beacon Hills. After things calmed down, Stiles and Danny designed some sort of game together; they made more than enough money for Stiles to buy the land and build himself a house. Things have been quiet for some time now.”

“Is Stiles working?” Scott asked, echoing Derek's earlier thoughts. “I thought that he’d be here to meet us.”

Deaton's lips curled again, and Derek forced down a sneaking suspicion that the emissary was laughing at them. “I'm not sure where he is,” the man admitted.

“Don't you have his number?” Erica huffed. “Call him and tell him it's an emergency or something.”

“Why don't we just go and check out his house?” Isaac suggested. “He won't mind if we break in and wait.”

“I'm not sure Stiles is in the country at the moment, let alone the city,” the emissary said drily. “Last I heard, he and Katarina were in Budapest.”

“Katarina?” Lydia asked, looking interested.

“A little more than a year ago, we had a bit of a witch problem. Katarina happened to be tracking one of the witches, and circumstances led to she and Stiles meeting each other.” He paused to reach for a photograph of Stiles with a dark-haired woman; Stiles was grinning at her, while she was glaring at the camera.

“She kind of looks like the female you, Derek,” Cora joked, elbowing her brother in the ribs.

Deaton nodded genially, ignoring the scowl on Derek's face. “Katarina believes that Stiles is the reincarnation of her lost love. They worked together against the witches, uneasily at first, but they saved each other a few times and eventually fell in love. Katarina finally convinced Stiles to leave Beacon Hills in Satomi’s hands for a time and live his own life.”

“What about his dad?” Boyd asked.

“He and Melissa McCall married some time ago; they wholeheartedly support Katarina’s efforts to get Stiles to live a little,” he said.

Everyone ignored Scott's small sound of despair as they all began to realize that Beacon Hills had changed while they were gone, and what's more, that it might have been fine without them. After all, they had all called home once in awhile to let their families know that they were alive, but how had Scott not known that his mom had gotten married? What had led to the partnership between the Stilinskis and Chris Argent? Why hadn't anyone told them about Stiles?

“Is he safe? You know what a monster magnet Stiles is,” Erica looked expectantly at Deaton.

This time, Deaton didn't even try to stop his smile. “I don't think there's anything that Katarina wouldn't do to protect Stiles.”

“Will he come back?” Scott whined.

“Of course he will,” Lydia scolded, “he has a house and family here. Our job hasn't changed--we still have to convince him that he's pack. Only now, instead of him waiting on us, we're waiting on him. Which we _will_ do, patiently,” she said, with glares for the rest of them.

“But--” Derek bristled at Lydia's tone. He couldn't win Stiles back if the other man wasn't there, not to mention the added difficulty if he had already found someone else.

“Did you honestly think that Stiles was just going to pine for us,” she shot Derek a scathing look, “forever? According to Deaton, it sounds like he stayed around longer than we deserved.”

“If you want my advice, Derek,” Deaton began mildly, “if you are still interested in Stiles, you’ll need to court both of them when they come home. Katarina will never give Stiles up,” the _unlike you_ went unspoken, “and you need to figure out if you fit into their lives.” He pulled a handful of books from his shelves and gave them to Derek. “I suggest you do your homework, because a werewolf courting a vampire can get a bit tricky.”

“WHAT?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title comes from the poem "One Day I Wrote Her Name Upon the Strand" by Edmund Spenser.
> 
> The idea for this came from a Stiles/Katherine fic I read on ff.net. I had to use Google to translate it from French, so I'm sure I missed a lot, but I liked the general idea enough to play with it.
> 
> Of course, neither Stiles nor Katherine appear in this fic, but you might be interested to know that a while back I started writing short "extra" scenes for the stories that I wasn't completely satisfied with, including most of the ones in this collection. They won't be posted for a few months because I'm going to post all of the extras as a collection themselves, but if there's a particular fic you have a question about (or would like to see more of), leave me a comment with that fic and I'll see what I can come up with.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	3. wayfarers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things change for Stiles and Allison after the nogitsune.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Tags: Canon Divergence, Post-Nogitsune, Stiles (and Allison) Leave Beacon Hills

It all started going wrong after the nogitsune. Everyone had survived, though Stiles and Allison had almost died, and everyone was dealing with the near-deaths differently. While everyone visited Stiles in the hospital that first day--Scott, Kira, Isaac, Lydia, and the twins--Scott was the only one who stayed long enough to have a decent conversation, and even that felt strangely weird, like Scott was trying too hard. The next time Scott had come, Kira and Isaac had both come with the alpha and had looked so awkward during their visit that Stiles pretended to need a nap so that they would leave. The twins were only there long enough to mutter well wishes before they vanished again, in and out quickly enough that Stiles might have thought that he had imagined them, except that Cora complained about the two joining Scott's pack when the Hales came by later that day.

Surprisingly, out of the ten days he was in the hospital, it was Derek, Cora, and Peter who visited the most, after his dad. His dad came by every day, even if it was only for ten minutes; the Hales came less often, but stayed much longer during each visit. They would always leave if someone else showed up, but they spent a surprising amount of time keeping Stiles occupied while he recovered. There had even been a day when the three of them brought books and stuck around to read while Stiles napped; he had been surprisingly touched when he had woken up two hours later to find them still there, lounging around like hanging out in the hospital was normal.

The Hales didn't spend as much time with Allison as they did with him, but they visited her (or at least Mr. Argent) enough to give him general updates on her condition, which he appreciated. Mrs. McCall had taken him to see her once, but he had started panicking in the elevator and hadn't ever made it to her room. He knew that she was awake and doing better, and that Scott and Isaac were doing as shoddy a job of visiting her as they were of visiting him; he also knew from Derek that Cora had yelled at Lydia for spending more time with Scott than her injured best friend.

Unfortunately, the Hales had to leave town just before Stiles got out of the hospital--something about tracking down an old ally of the family--so Stiles found himself stuck at home in the same way he had been stuck at the hospital--with better accommodations but fewer visitors.

Granted, Stiles and Allison didn't really notice the change at first. Stiles was still exhausted and Allison heavily medicated, so they didn't see it when Lydia's smile became strained as she visited Allison less and less, or how Scott quickly changed the subject every time Stiles mentioned getting together for a game night. Their friends would tell them to "focus on getting better" and to "not worry about anything" if they asked about the latest supernatural trouble, but Stiles and Allison, who were used to being in the middle of the action, had a hard time following those directions. Officially, while Allison was recovering from her stabbing and Stiles was dealing with the after-effects of his possession (including shiny new nightmares), the rest of the pack, per Scott's orders, was giving the two humans space to heal.

Unofficially, Stiles and Allison were slowly being pushed out of the pack.

Isaac and Kira had been rare visitors from the start, but Allison and Stiles put their absences down to fear of hospitals and feelings of guilt (Kira's mother was the one that started this, after all), respectively. The twins had given Allison the same ten second encouragement that they had offered Stiles, and visits from the Hales, although polite, also felt a bit stilted and awkward, for obvious reasons.

It wasn't until both friends were home from the hospital two weeks later that they really started speaking to each other and comparing notes. Stiles called Allison in frustration at yet another ignored phone call to Scott, only to find that Scott wasn't answering Allison's calls, either. After a little investigating, the duo discovered that not only was Scott not answering, Isaac had changed his number and Lydia was constantly pretending to be too busy to call.

It was hurtful, of course, but it was also infuriating. Both Stiles and Allison had risked their lives for their friends, only to be pushed away? The only thing keeping the two of them from storming over to Scott's house (other than the fact that they were still physically recovering) was the devastated looks that would appear on their fathers' faces when either of them gave any hint of discomfort.

Having almost lost their remaining parents to the darach, Stiles and Allison bore their fathers’ overprotectiveness with mostly good grace. The four of them spent enough time together that the Stilinski's spare bedroom had become jokingly known as "The Argent Suite", and Stiles was considering making a copy of Allison's key. The Sheriff took Allison to physical therapy when Chris was busy, and Mr. Argent made dinner for Stiles more than once when his dad worked the night shift at the station. It didn't quite fill the gap left by the pack, but it was a nice start.

School had ended while Allison and Stiles were recovering, but the pack still found ways to avoid them. Scott and Isaac claimed to be camping, and Lydia said that her parents felt bad about neglecting her, and were taking her on vacation together. The duo didn't particularly care about the twins, and weren't close enough to Kira to call her. In fact, Kira was the only one who was legitimately out of town, visiting relatives. The only reason they knew about that was because both Deaton and Mrs. Yukimura had come by with balms and teas to accelerate healing, and had stayed around to chat with Stiles on a rare day when he was alone. Deaton brought Stiles multiple books on supernatural lore to keep him occupied, and Kira's mother took it upon herself to distract Stiles while Deaton made some foul-smelling concoction in his kitchen that was designed, ironically, to boost his appetite, by telling Stiles about her family's upcoming trip to Washington.

When Stiles and Allison couldn't take it anymore, they sat their dads down over dinner and explained to them why they needed to confront Scott. Both men were understanding, but wary of letting their children out of sight (decades-long groundings had been mentioned on both accounts), only agreeing to let them out of the house two days later following a coordinated hour-long sing-along (assault) featuring a ukulele, some maracas, and Lady Gaga lyrics.

A day after their performance, the two were allowed out, provided they would stay in town and be home before dark.

"Do we need to hold hands everywhere we go? Because I'm not comfortable following her into the bathroom." Stiles grinned at Allison. "You'll have to fight the bathroom monsters on your own."

Both parents rolled their eyes, but Allison laughed and pulled Stiles out the door. "Don't worry, we won't take any candy from strangers!"

<> <>

The plan was for Stiles and Allison to grab some lunch at Stiles’s favorite diner before heading to Scott's and demanding answers. After dealing with Scott and Isaac, they would hunt Lydia down and talk sense into her as well. Then, depending how long that took, they would go out for ice cream.

Thankfully, they didn't have to go far for answers. Fortified with burgers and fries (and a side order of Deputy Parrish lurking in a corner booth), the duo headed to the McCall house, only to find a pack meeting already in progress. Stiles, unfortunately, was not surprised by this turn of events, but Allison looked shocked. She looked from Scott, to Kira, to Isaac to Lydia, and when Scott only offered a small shrug in explanation, Allison exploded. After fifteen minutes of yelling, threats, and hurt feelings, Stiles had to drag his friend out of the house, thankful (for everyone else's sakes) that she was unarmed.

Stiles, who had had some experience with Scott's tendency to get distracted by new friends (first Allison, then Isaac), found it easier to deal with his change in status than Allison; Scott's newly blossoming relationship with Kira was harder on Allison than she had anticipated. So, while Scott found himself with a new best friend in Isaac and a new girlfriend in Kira, Stiles and Allison found themselves with only each other to lean on. It was a little awkward at first, but they found that they actually had a lot more in common than single fathers and werewolves, and Allison slowly became the anchor for Stiles that Lydia was meant to be, and Stiles took on Isaac's role for Allison.

Six months after the nogitsune, the pair went to their fathers to discuss the idea of graduating early from high school. They had all but broken from the pack, and neither one of them was willing to make new friends on the grounds that a) a new friend would likely end up being the new bad guy, or b) a new friend would inevitably end up being killed by the new bad guy. The fact that either one was a legitimately possible scenario was depressing as hell.

Neither Stiles’s nor Allison's dad was surprised at the duo's desire to leave, having seen their children struggle even before the nogitsune, and after a few family dinners together, plans were set.

They left right after Christmas, driving with no set destination. Allison had always wanted to see some of the national parks, so the plan was to drive across the country to as many places as they could before starting college in the fall.

<> <>

New York was a surprisingly difficult place to hide. Within the first month of their arrival, they had somehow established themselves as legitimate supernatural mediators who were treated like beloved little siblings by all but the most hardened magical creatures in the city (and some of them were wavering, Stiles knew). It was weird and unexpected, especially considering Allison’s family connections and Stiles's humanity, but it helped erase the self-doubt that had been created by Scott and the pack.

That didn't mean, however, that the pair went looking for trouble. Every supernatural creature that they were friends with had cautiously approached them first, only to then introduce the two of them to their entire circle of friends after they realized that the two of them were good people. They would defend themselves if necessary, but they never struck first. They weren't flashy, valued their privacy, and made an effort to treat veryone fairly.

It figured that with the lengths the pair had gone to to avoid being noticed by SHIELD, that they would be found out within a year of living there.

<> <>

The Stark Foundation gig was a favor for a friend. Neither Stiles nor Allison wanted the exposure, and they didn't need the money, but Vanessa had begged and pleaded and brought out the puppy eyes until the two of them had conceded.

He really should have known better, Stiles thought sourly as he ducked behind a large floor vase. He should have gone with his gut instinct when Vanessa had asked him to work at one of Tony Stark's functions, even if it was a fundraiser. The name "Stark" should have sent him running in the other direction, but his friend had looked suitably pathetic while asking him for help and the pay wasn't bad, either. There was talk of somebody's grandma being sick, and somebody's cat dying, and Vanessa might have made her bottom lip tremble at one point, and this job would be a big boost for her catering business, so please, please, please could they help? Unfortunately, he and Allison were no match for their friend's sad eyes, and let themselves be talked into working even though they both knew it was a horrible idea.

The first two hours of the fundraiser had gone well: he hadn't dropped a single tray or been groped by anyone. Sure, he had to give up his cellphone and wear a stupid uniform, but people were surprisingly polite and he had spotted Dr. Bruce Banner in the crowd, so things weren't all bad. Allison had given him a brief grin from across the room when they had made eye contact a half hour before, so he figured she was having a good time, too.

They _really_ should have known better.

Stiles had just picked up another tray of what seemed to be an endless supply of crab cakes when the screaming started. He couldn't see exactly what had caused the disturbance, ducked behind the vase as he was, but if there was one thing Stiles had learned from his time with werewolves, it was that jumping into a fight without a plan never ended well. For now, he was going to eavesdrop as long as he could without being noticed.

(Stiles certainly regretted being a soft touch, now. No more favors for friends, no matter how sad they looked. He had lost sight of Allison a few minutes before the siege started, but he had no doubt that she was hiding somewhere, trying to come up with a plan as well.)

He felt bad for Vanessa, though. Her first real attempt at a career without her coven's help, at an event featuring the Avengers, no less, had been hijacked by unknown annoying people.

From what he could hear from behind his vase, there were six assailants with guns in the room. The fourth time they started going on about how Stark should invent something to useful that wasn't a weapon, Stiles rolled his eyes and resisted the urge to bang his head against the obviously expensive pottery.

This was definitely not the place for this conversation and, did they forget that they were holding people hostage? Using guns?

Not the brightest activists, these.

Ms. Potts was speaking now, trying to reason with them, and from what he could see, the Avengers were slowly getting in position to take them out, weapons or no. At least one of the criminals, however, seemed to realize the futility of this harebrained scheme, because he was slowly moving in Stiles's direction.

Before he thought better of it, Stiles stuck his foot out.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title comes from the poem "Up-Hill" by Christina Rossetti.
> 
> I tried multiple times to make this one work, and I just couldn't figure out what to do with it. I don't have any "extras" for this one, but I am playing with an idea for a completely different "Allison and Stiles meet the Avengers" fic.


	4. rewarding destiny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Derek and the rest of the pack kick him out, Stiles goes to live with his cousin Caroline. It turns out that Caroline isn't the only vampire to which Stiles is related.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Tags: Stiles is Pushed Out of the Pack, Stiles Leaves Beacon Hills, Derek/Stiles
> 
> This one is a couple of years old, and I cringed a little when I read it again, but I promised myself when I decided to post my fanfiction that I was going to post all of it, regardless of my personal opinions on it, so...here's a thing.
> 
> Happy reading!

Stiles really didn't want to do this.

Evidently, Elijah agreed. "Please, brother, don't do this," he cajoled, reaching for Stiles, who stepped further back inside the ward and out of Elijah's grasp. Stiles didn't want to risk letting his brother maneuver him outside the wards; the spell had to be done and Elijah would do his best to stop it.

They both ignored the banging on the door behind them.

"They've already killed Finn and Kol," Stiles explained, "I can't let them take the rest of you." He kept drawing glyphs on the walls, being careful not to look at his brother. "This will keep you safe."

Elijah disagreed. "We need to stay together!"

The banging intensified, and Stiles could hear both Niklaus and Rebekah yelling outside. He wished he could let them in, and say goodbye, but...

He carefully finished the last rune and picked up the knife. Stiles stared at his brother, willing him to understand. "I love you."

The last thing he heard as the knife plunged into his chest was the sound of Elijah's scream.

<> <>

"You're kidding me!"

"No, Stiles, I'm serious." Derek's face didn't change, but then again, he only seemed to have about three facial expressions, so it was hard to tell sometimes. "I've spoken to Deaton, and he's agreed to send you away."

Stiles stared in disbelief at the faces around him. "Excuse me?"

"We just want to protect you, dude." Scott turned on the puppy eyes. "These people mean business and we can't always protect you. Deaton says--"

"Deaton says?"

"You can come back when it's safe," Isaac offered.

Lydia snorted. "This place will never be safe." She looked up from her reading only long enough to glare at Derek. "Don't be an idiot."

 _Obviously_ , Stiles thought bitterly, _the pack didn't care about Stiles as much as he cared_ _about them_. “Fine,” he said.

As one, the surprised pack turned back to Stiles. The other boy shrugged dismissively. "You want me gone? I'll talk to my dad."

"Stiles--"

"No, Derek. You might be the alpha of this pack, but you're not my father,” he admonished blandly, gathering his belongings together. There was actually quite a bit of his stuff at Derek's loft; he'd have to figure out a way to get most of it back later. Maybe he could ask Lydia to pick it up for him, since she seemed to be the only one with any sense and would be particularly thorough in the reclamation of Stiles's things. "I'll at least be staying until the end of the semester. If I leave, it will be my choice, not yours or Deaton's. Don't talk to me, don't text me," he glanced at Derek, "don't come to me for help."

Stiles didn't bother to slam the door on his way out.

<> <>

Stiles would have been lying if he said the next two months were easy, but it wasn't like he was sitting home alone crying in his room, either. Sure, his closest friends were part the pack, but he had other friends that tended to not put him in life-or-death situations and didn't assume that he was weaker than them. The hardest part was that even though the pack had essentially kicked him out, they never truly left him alone. More than once, Isaac and Erica had stolen clothes from his locker, and Scott kept inviting Stiles over for game nights. Boyd was still his lab partner in biology, and Cora kept reminding him about pack meetings when they passed each other in the hallways, even though he had no intention of going to them.

And then there was Derek, who had the audacity to corner him one afternoon when he was meeting his dad for lunch.

"What do you want, Derek?" The alpha's lips and eyebrows did a complicated little dance number that on anyone else might have meant sadness, but Stiles wasn't sure what it conveyed in this case, not when Derek had been the one to come up with this particular idea. "Just so you know, guys are doing an awful job of kicking me out of the pack,” he said lightly as the alpha stared down at him.

"I don't want you to go." Derek slid into the booth, but kept his eyes on the table until Stiles kicked him in the shin.

"So the present danger passed, then." Stiles pursed his lips when Derek looked up to glare at him. "And what about the next time?"

"I don't--"

"I'm going to make it easy for you," he said, pointing his straw at Derek. "I'm going to go live with my cousin in Virginia." Seeing the alpha's reluctant relief, he continued, "Though from what Caroline says, Mystic Falls has a bit of a vampire problem, so I'm probably not going to be as safe as you'd hoped when you kicked me out.”

He grinned at Derek, but it was a mean smile that didn't reach his eyes. "So instead of being in danger here, where we can protect each other, I'm going to be in danger on the other side of the country. Alone. With bitey things.” He put his straw back into his drink and took a noisy slurp. “Fun times."

"Your dad is okay with that?"

"His dad trusts him to be safe and take care of himself," the Sheriff said from behind the alpha, making the other man start in surprise. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to have lunch with my son,” he added, ushering the alpha away from the table.

Derek left in a haze. When he'd decided to kick Stiles out, he had wanted the human to be safe, no matter the consequences. He’d gotten what he’d thought he'd wanted, but now the other boy was going somewhere where Derek couldn't protect him.

Not to mention that they both knew that the pack wouldn't be the same without him.

<> <>

Virginia was pretty nice, despite being thousands of miles away from his dad. Stiles fit in easily with his cousin and aunt, despite the personality differences, but he was less willing to get himself involved in the drama that Elena and the rest of Caroline's friends brought to Mystic Falls. The only person who Stiles really connected to was Bonnie, who was willing to randomly geek out with him about stuff that bored Caroline to tears.

The lack of socialization drove Caroline crazy, but she tolerated it until the Salvatores came home, at which point she started pestering him about meeting them.

"Come on, Stiles," Caroline wheedled. "One night out is not going to kill you."

"She's right, you know," Liz said, grabbing her keys on her way to work. "You need to spend time with people other than us and Bonnie."

"No matter how much we love you," Caroline echoed. "It will be fun. You can meet Stefan and Damon. Please?"

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Fine, but if I get my throat ripped out or die of massive blood loss, I'm going to blame you."

<> <>

Mystic Grill was surprisingly busy for a Thursday night. Stiles inwardly groaned at the size of the crowd, but slapped a smile on his face for his cousin's sake. Caroline meant well, Bonnie was cool, and Matt was nice enough, so Stiles would do his best to make an effort and seem like he was having a good time.

Caroline deftly guided them through the grill toward a booth where Bonnie sat chatting with two dark-haired men. Everyone looked up as the cousins approached in a move that would have been eerie had Stiles not known that the brothers weren't human. As it was, he suppressed the dog joke in his head; he didn't know if the the vampires would take kindly to being compared to werewolves and he preferred his throat where it was, thank you.

"Hey, guys," Caroline greeted, dragging him into the booth with her. "This is my cousin Stiles. He recently escaped from a pack of asshole werewolves, and I'm doing my best to convince him of the superiority of vampires, instead.”

"Hey!" Stiles did not want to talk about his pack in front of two strange vampires, even if Caroline trusted them. Besides, he still loved the others even if they were morons.

"Hi," he nodded to the brothers. "Don't pay any attention to Caroline. The pack and I parted ways, that's all. It happens.” He glared at his cousin and then smiled at Bonnie in greeting.

"They kicked you out because they were too stupid to realize how much you did for them,” she huffed, ignoring the warning look from Bonnie.

The boy frowned at her. "Please, Care, I don't want to talk about this."

His cousin must have seen something in his face, because she let the matter drop. Or, it might have been because Matt came to take their order. Either way, he'd take any rescue he could get.

Once Matt had left, the Salvatore brothers turned to Stiles. "So, Stiles. Things have been pretty boring around here recently. I'm up for some ripping and maiming, if you're interested," Damon smirked.

Stiles met his smirk with one of his own, but shook his head. "No thanks. I appreciate the thought, though."

"How do you like it here?” Stefan asked. "It must be difficult moving your last year of high school."

Stiles glanced at Caroline, who was animatedly chatting with Bonnie. "Care assures me it won't be horrible, but I'll reserve judgment until classes start again."

Stefan nodded sympathetically. High school could be brutal, especially in a place like Mystic Falls. "If nothing else, Klaus, Elijah and Rebekah Mikaelson are coming back soon. Things tend to get interesting when they're around."

Caroline laughed and threw a fry at Damon. "Maybe you and Klaus will finally stop pulling each other's pigtails and start dating."

The elder Salvatore scowled. "We do not flirt."

"Sure you don't," his cousin said. "Just watch them when we get together," she told Stiles conspiratorially. "You'll see what I mean."

<> <>

For the first time in centuries, the Mikaelson siblings found themselves almost giddy with anticipation. They had stopped at the Grill for a quick bite to eat and a chance to listen to recent gossip, when Rebekah's sometimes paramour Matt had offhandedly mentioned a visiting cousin of Caroline's named Stiles. He had proceeded to spend a good ten minutes recounting just how funny and clever the boy was, how he already knew about the supernatural, and how attentive he was to Caroline and his aunt before the siblings truly registered what the human was saying.

When the knowledge finally hit, it was like lightning. A brave, kindhearted boy named Stiles, come to Mystic Falls? It seemed like fate had finally done them a good turn.

Food all but forgotten, they raced to Caroline's house in the hopes of seeing their long-lost brother for the first time in far too long.

The siblings barely had time to feel remorse for ringing the Forbes's doorbell late at night when the door cracked, a sleep-rumpled Sheriff Forbes looking out, concern crossing her features as she took in the trio standing on her doorstep. "Is everything okay?"

"We're sorry for the intrusion,” Elijah asked evenly. “Is Caroline in?"

The woman frowned in confusion. "Actually, she and Stiles are spending the night at the boardinghouse. If you want to--"

"Thank you," Niklaus interrupted. "We apologize for the intrusion.”

“We'll let you get back to sleep,” Rebekah added kindly as they turned away to leave.

Liz Forbes shrugged and went back to bed.

<> <>

No matter how much the siblings were tempted to simply barge into the boardinghouse, Elijah assured them that they would conduct themselves like civilized people and knock. If Niklaus bounced around like an impatient toddler while waiting for someone to answer the door, though, his siblings were smart enough to pretend not to notice. For the time being, anyway.

Stefan smiled in welcome as he answered the door. "Come in," he said, guiding them toward the living room. "Damon is out with Bonnie," he shot a look at Klaus, "but Caroline and her cousin are here. You can meet Stiles."

Caroline and Stiles were hunched over a board game as the others walked in, laughing as Stiles took his turn. "Just you wait, I'm going to rescue that poor cat from that tree and climb that ladder all the way to the top," he crowed as he hit the spinner. "Ha!" He moved his piece and did the time-honored Forbes-Stilinski 'I am _thisclose_ to beating you at this board game' dance, perfected over years of game nights.

That was the first glimpse that the Mikaelsons had of their little brother in half a millennia: doing a funny little dance and laughing. Without waiting for his brother to notice him, Klaus sped forward to wrap his brother in his arms, the others following after. Stiles squeaked in surprise, but didn't pull away, while Caroline and Stefan looked on in shock.

Finally, the Mikaelsons pulled back, and Stiles got his first look at them. "Hi," he said tentatively, "not that I mind the hug, because hugs are awesome, but do I know you?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title comes from the poem "How Beautiful the Earth is Still" by Emily Bronte.
> 
> (In case anyone is curious, the game that Caroline and Stiles are playing is Chutes and Ladders.)
> 
> Next week: the third fairytale fic featuring Chris/Peter/Stiles.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and I'll see you then!


	5. the kingdom where nobody dies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Lydia capture the Originals' attention. After a massive spell gone awry, they capture everyone else's attention in an entirely different way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Tags: Reincarnation, Lydia Martin & Stiles Stilinski are Twins
> 
> This was only lightly edited, so feel free to point out any errors.
> 
> Enjoy!

The event lasted all day, though most people would only stay for a few hours, looking for gossip and free food. Stiles and Lydia, as part of the McCall pack, were free to come and go as they pleased, and Lydia--who was three days into a fight with Jackson--decided on a mid-afternoon entrance. That way, the twins would arrive after lunch but before the coven, and Jackson would no doubt be completely worked up and ready to grovel by the time they arrived.

Stiles didn't object to the late arrival; it turned his stomach the way that the harpies of Beacon Hills (supernatural and otherwise) were drooling over the arrival of the coven the same way they had fawned over the resurrection of the Hales months before.

Jackson was, as expected, waiting for them when they arrived.

“Jackass...I mean Jackson,” Stiles greeted as the werewolf met them at the gate.

Lydia’s lips twitched. “Stiles, be nice.”

“Can't I at least put flea bath in his shampoo?” he asked drily, ignoring the other boy's glare.

“I'm standing right here!” Jackson growled irritably as he them led further onto the grounds. The twins ignored him.

“Can I buy him another chew toy?” Stiles continued.

Lydia arched a brow. “Another?”

“It was a rubber cat,” her brother announced with a grin. “It was adorable.”

“No.”

“Sic the police dogs on him?”

“Definitely not. I appreciate the thought, though.”

Jackson was practically red with anger at the teasing, but before he could so much as sputter an insult in Stiles’s direction, Scott appeared like the hero he was, putting his hand on Jackson's shoulder to stop the upcoming explosion and leading his best friend away from the volatile werewolf.

“Sorry you didn't get to annoy Jackson,” the alpha offered sympathetically as they left the other two behind.

Stiles just grinned and threw an arm around his best friend's shoulders. “Oh, I'm not worried. Lydia only shot down those three ideas, you realize; I have more. And you'll notice that she didn't tell me to leave Jackson alone, either.” His gaze darkened. “After all, no one gets away with hurting my sister.”

<> <>

The Mikaelsons had informed the Hales of their plans to attend the party, but not to expect them before dinner. As a result, many of the town’s most dedicated sycophants suddenly arrived just before the meal was to be served, as Talia and Robert knew that they would. By the time the coven had “officially” appeared, most of the aforementioned group was waiting for them.

Beacon Hills had always been a supernatural hub since its founding, but the reawakening of the nemeton had ushered in a tide of new residents. No one knew what had caused the tree to stir after centuries of sleep or why it had revived the Hales, but everyone knew that the McCall pack (though they remained stubbornly silent on the subject) was responsible for the change. Rumors abound, but the small pack was not prone to gossip, so the theories of what had occurred that night ranged from the probable to the preposterous. In fact, the only three people that knew exactly what had happened that night were Scott, Lydia, and Stiles.

So, while the Mikaelsons were there ostensibly to visit their old friends come back to life, unofficially they--and many others--wanted to see the upstart McCall pack for themselves. No one would challenge them of course (the Hales would see to that), but many wanted to test the young pack’s mettle regardless.

The pack in question was likely the only group who did not look forward to the celebrity that knowing the Mikaelson coven would bring to them. Scott, despite his easygoing charm, didn't want to offend supernatural royalty, and the twins, despite their unquenchable thirst for knowledge, ultimately didn't want to settle anywhere other than Beacon Hills. Traveling and studying for a few years was one thing, but being a part of the coven meant a greater commitment they were willing to make. That was why, as dinner time grew closer, the twins drew away from party-goers and into their own private space.

They sat into the shade of a large tree, spreading out a quilt they had borrowed from Talia’s mother and settling down to read. When the Mikaelsons arrived shortly before 7:00, the twins hardly bothered to look up from their reading. An hour later, it was only little Emma Hale calling them for dinner that got them out of their chosen hiding spot.

Talia had asked after the twins, only to receive blank looks in return until her her youngest daughter lit up with excitement about Stiles and Lydia’s secret place and how she’d been there once when a boy in her class had been mean to her and Stiles wanted to make her feel better.

“I’ll go get them,” she said, and narrowed her eyes at the assembled adults. “You better not follow me, though!”

Ten minutes later, Emma came bounding back, the twins trailing behind her, hands full. They offered small shrugs of apology to the others before following the little girl into the house. The impressively large books the two were carrying made it obvious what the two of them had been doing, and more than one adult shook their heads in exasperation at the pair.

Margot, one of the many new witches to the area, admonished the twins with a frown. “Leave it to the two of you to run off rather than pay our guests the proper respect they deserve.”

“Personally, I believe that scholarship is an essential part of a sharp mind,” Elijah interrupted. The witch flinched. “I find dinner parties much more agreeable when they feature thoughtful conversation.”

His gaze lingered on the twins as he spoke. “Perhaps the two of you would honor our family with your presence?”

Stiles’s eyebrows shot up and Lydia squeezed her brother's hand in comfort. “Thank you, my Lord, but we already have a standing engagement at the kids’ table,” Lydia replied.

She smiled, remembering the last time she and her brother had eaten with the younger set. Some of them had started texting Stiles every other night since, asking for the next part in the story he had spontaneously begun months before.

Elijah watched the twins carefully. He and the others had spent what little time they had been at the party dodging various individuals who were either currying favor or gushing over their pedigree. Each of the Mikaelsons had hoped to come across one (or both) of their younger siblings, but discovered that the pair frequently disappeared from public gatherings, despite their considerable intellect and outgoing personalities. Though they were told that the duo would passionately discuss subjects that interested them, the Mikaelsons got the impression that the arrival of the world's most powerful coven was not one of those things.

The McCall pack as a whole seemed utterly uninterested in politics or celebrity. In Elijah’s opinion, they were mature beyond their years, perhaps because of all of the conflict they had endured in their short lives. Many in the supernatural world had assumed that the fledgling pack would easily relinquish defense of the territory to the older and larger Hale pack; instead, Scott and the others had carried on as before, despite the fact that most of the pack was in college and would benefit from the break.

Elijah hadn’t had the opportunity to speak with any of the McCalls yet this evening, but he had spied both Rebekah and Niklaus doing so. He was surprised at his desire to pull both of them aside and push for information; unfortunately, there was a dinner to attend and the Originals couldn't be seen gossiping like children.

It should have annoyed him that the two people who he wanted to speak with the most were declining his family's company--other people had been killed for less. Yet Elijah was proud that these two held on to their principles even when other, potentially more advantageous, opportunities came along. He knew the others would feel the same.

The moment was broken when Emma raced back into the room with three other children at her heels, each taking one of the twins’ arms and pulling them away from the dining room.

“Come on, Stiles,” a small girl with pigtails complained, “I need to know what happened to that dragon! I've been worried!”

Stiles let himself be guided with a smile. “Well, I can't tell you anything until dessert, of course, but I will say that green beans were involved.”

This was obviously very important information, because the children gasped and started pulling harder, leaving the adults watching them with amusement as the group hurried out the door.

“I don't know what kind of tale those two are spinning,” Robert said with a chuckle, “but Cassidy and Callie both turned down seats at the grown-up table to hear it.”

“Given the chance, I think that all of the pack children would abandon their parents and go live with the Stilinskis,” Peter said blithely, ushering people into their seats. He smirked. “I'd do it, too, if the Sheriff would let me.”

“Well, then,” Freya said brightly, twining her arm around Scott’s, “I look forward to speaking with those two later. For now, I couldn't think of a better escort.” Scott flushed with embarrassment, but led the eldest Mikaelson to dinner; the Originals, the packs, and the other guests following behind.

At the main table, the Hales, McCalls, and Mikaelsons easily chatted about various things, from sprite infestations to lacrosse. Freya was charmed by Scott McCall, and was glad that her siblings had such a loving alpha, especially considering their prior experiences with wolves. Scott happily shared stories of the trio growing up, and Freya could tell that Kol--who was currently chatting with Derek Hale--was listening to her conversation with half an ear. Klaus was speaking with one of the Hale pack--a blond teenager--while Finn conversed with the Hale matriarch, and Rebekah asked Allison about her role as a hunter in the pack.

At the other tables, conversation largely focused on whether not the twins had snubbed the visitors or not, and what the repercussions would be for such a slight. Some people said that the Stilinskis had done nothing wrong, that the coven was obviously interested in the twins and would continue to pursue them; others claimed that the invitation had been a test for Scott’s pack, and that the failure would likely mean that the Originals would take away their territory and give it to the Hales.

It was true, in a way, that the Original family wanted to test the McCall pack, if only to make sure that their born-again siblings were properly watched over. Every scrap of information that they had gathered since learning of Henrik and Sonja’s reincarnations had shown that their nineteen-year-old siblings were strong, smart, savvy, and well-liked by people who understood their potential.

Losing their youngest siblings all those centuries ago--Henrik, to the wolves, and Sonja, to heartbreak over her brother's death--had left an indelible mark on the rest of the Mikaelsons.

And then a child witch had stared up at Niklaus with her endless blue eyes and asked the hybrid when they were going to California.

The return of the Hales had delayed them somewhat, but now that the Mikaelsons were here, they were going to get to know Stiles and Lydia as much as possible.

<> <>

The spell was meant to be one of protection--cast by a witch who was looking to impress both the Hales and the Mikaelsons. Instead, it created a pocket that consumed the supernatural, trapping every magical being in Beacon Hills in an alternate dimension and leaving the town utterly human.

<> <>

Beacon Hills didn't stay exclusively human for long. The nemeton still drew the powerful to its borders, and the sudden disappearance of so many well-known people caused quite a stir.

The Stilinskis were given a mere two months reprieve (as outsiders were concerned that they, too, would disappear if they entered the town) before the first brave soul came to claim the territory.

He didn't vanish, but the twins made sure that he wished that he had.

The next two years brought nearly-constant battles for dominance, as Stiles and Lydia repeatedly proved that they were capable of holding the territory without Scott.

Slowly, supernaturals returned, attracted by the safety that the twins offered, including Deucalion and Katherine Pierce. Katherine showed up first, drawn by curiosity and looking for a quick meal, only to meet Stiles within her first hour in town. The two became surprisingly fast friends.

Deucalion came next, looking for the Stilinski twins in particular, and immediately offering his advice (and claws) if they needed it. The werewolf and the vampire helped the twins build solidify their positions as the supernatural leaders of not only Beacon Hills, but of the West Coast.

Every free moment they had was spent trying to undo what the overzealous witch had done.

Lydia had a run-in with a werewolf that triggered her banshee abilities; Stiles apprenticed under the visiting shaman.

About half of the humans left for less supernaturally active places, including the Argents. Deaton wasn't any help at all and Katherine eventually ran him out of town.

<> <>

_Seven years later_

“Why do we have to be here, again? Wouldn't Duke or Katherine be better for this?” the town's newest deputy complained. They’d been patrolling the area all month, and had yet to see anything out of the ordinary. He glanced at Deputy Parrish in the seat next to him.

“Lydia and Stiles couldn't say for certain exactly when the spell would break, but the nemeton has been acting up all spring, and they don't have time to sit around and wait for something to happen.”

“But we do?”

Parrish shrugged. “It's part of our patrol, isn't it?”

“All right, but if a hundred people just randomly appear out of nowhere, you get to explain to them what's going on.”

<> <>

By a stroke of luck, Sheriff Stilinski was the one patrolling the Preserve when the return happened. He took the time to call his children and send quick messages to Katherine, Duke, and Parrish before he stepped out of his cruiser to speak to Talia and Robert, who were milling about among the rest of the group.

Conversation died down as he approached, until nearly everyone's eyes were on him. He caught sight of a teenaged Scott a few feet away and sighed.

“Talia, Robert, it's good to see you. It's been awhile,” he said evenly.

There must have been something in his voice, because he saw Peter and the Mikaelsons perk up out of the corner of his eye. Talia, though, simply smiled and greeted him.

“I'm sure there's paperwork to be done to make up for our absence, but I imagine most people just want to go home for the moment, if you don't mind.”

"By your estimation, how long were you gone?"

The Hale alpha frowned, and even more people snapped to attention at the rising tension in the air. "By our estimates, we’ve been gone about seven months. I know it will be difficult for everyone to get back into the swing of things, especially the children with school, but--"

Dread twisted in her gut at the look on the Sheriff's face. Peter was right behind her now, too, staring at the Sheriff with an almost pained expression on his face. "How long?"

"You were gone for seven years."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	6. a love like clouds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damon has a secret that he would fight to the death to keep--and he nearly does. That secret will change Elijah's life forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Tags: Damon Salvatore & Elijah Mikaelson, Allison Argent & Stiles Stilinski are Twins
> 
> I have no idea what to say about this one, though I feel that I should mention that there is no mpreg in this story.
> 
> Enjoy!

_There's_ _too_ _much_ _blood_ , Damon thought, as he pulled himself through the boardinghouse. He wasn't going to be able to get away this time, and--

He thought about all the stupid plots he’d been involved in since he came back to Mystic Falls and swore. How could he be so stupid? He thought he was distracting them, but it would all be for nothing if he couldn't save his children.

Damon finally stumbled into his bedroom, trying to decide on a course of action. They were in the house now, he knew, because every so often something would slam or drop. It was only a matter of time before they found him. He was out of options.

Suddenly, the room tilted, and Damon barely had time to catch himself before he slid to the floor. He had his phone out before he’d even really thought about it.

These guys were a lot older and stronger than he was, and Damon viciously cursed himself with the thought that he had been too weak to protect them--

“Damon?” Elijah's confused voice came through the line, and Damon smiled wryly at the fact that he could detect a hint of worry. Maybe the Original cared a little after all. “Why are you calling?”

“To chat about the weather, of course,” the elder Salvatore said drily. He flinched as he heard one of the doors just down the hallway slam open, and couldn't hold back the groan of pain the movement caused.

“Damon, what's going on?” Elijah asked more forcefully. No doubt, he had heard the noises as well.

“I need you to do me a favor.”

“Why?”

Damon bit off a rueful chuckle; at least the other man sounded curious instead of angry.

“Because you have to,” he said tiredly, eyes slipping shut. Elijah said something else, but Damon had stopped listening. He should have been getting ready to fight, but it was just too much work. His phone was too slick in his hands.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered instead.

“Damon? Answer me!”

The last thing Elijah heard before the line disconnected was the slamming of a door.

<> <>

“What the hell was that?” Kol asked.

The eldest Mikaelson turned to his siblings with wide eyes. All of them had listened in on the conversation, and their faces reflected everything he was feeling--shock, confusion, concern--but none of them had any answers.

“Call Stefan,” Niklaus all but ordered, and Elijah started dialing before he thought better of it. If relations between Damon and the Mikaelsons were cool, relations between Stefan and the Mikaelsons were practically glacial; primarily because of Elena.

Who, of course, was the one to answer Stefan’s phone. “Stefan really can't talk right now,” she all but purred, and Elijah had to force himself to stay calm until he had convinced Elena to hand the phone to the younger Salvatore.

“Do you know where your brother is?” the Original asked without preamble as soon as Stefan was on the line. He'd spent too long volleying with Elena, and a knot of worry was forming in his stomach. “You need to find him, now.”

“Damon's fine,” Stefan assured him, “and why exactly do you care, anyway?”

“Stefan, just do it!” Elijah yelled, and heard Stefan and Elena begin to move in the background. If Stefan found his brother and Damon was perfectly fine, if this was just another case of Damon being an asshole, then Elijah would be relieved. Furious, but relieved.

“Oh, God.”

Elijah heard the phone hit the floor with a thud, and Stefan calling out for Damon, but before he could panic, Elena was on the line.

“There's so much blood,” she breathed.

“How did you know, Elijah?” Stefan demanded, when he finally retrieved the phone. “If you hurt him…”

“Your brother called _me_.”

The younger vampire made a disbelieving noise. “Why did he--if he needed help, why did he call you?”

“I don't know,” he answered honestly. “But we'll be there in two days.”

<> <>

"I don't understand what the problem is, Stiles. It's not like your dad is going to give you special treatment or anything." Allison paused, looking at her brother expectantly. "And it's not as if you can't defend yourself."

"We know that I could do the job, but the rest of Beacon Hills? They would never take me seriously. I don't want dad to have to fight off claims of nepotism during his next election."

"The next election isn't for two more years,” Allison pointed out, squeezing in next to her brother in the armchair in the Stilinski living room for their surreptitiously planned movie night. With all of the werewolf drama, they hadn't been able to spend nearly as much time together as they’d like, not to mention that as far as the rest of Beacon Hills knew, Stiles and Allison were only friends via Scott.

"That's not the point."

“You should do what you want with your life,” she encouraged. “I like what I'm doing now, and I already told dad that I'm not leaving you, so you should do whatever it is you want to do.”

Stiles eyed her curiously. “How did Chris take it?”

Now that fate had finally brought them back together, it was clear to both dads that neither twin wanted to leave the other. “Pretty much the way we expected,” she said, laying her head on her brother's shoulder. “They want us to stay together, but it's easier to protect us when we're apart--”

“And not living in a supernatural hotspot,” Stiles finished.

Allison grimaced. “At least no one will think to look for us here,” she offered lamely.

(The problem, of course, was that neither one of them believed that for a second.)

The pair sat together for a while, watching a movie and enjoying each other's company. In no time at all, Stiles was comfortable and warm, and he had almost drifted off when he felt a head drop onto his shoulder, and Allison's sleep-heavy voice reached his ears.

“What do you think they're like?” she wondered.

Once a year, every year, they each received a single letter from their father, telling them how much he loved them, why he had left them, what he wanted for them, and occasionally talking about their other parent. Stiles had kept every single letter, meticulously studying and re-reading them every so often; he knew Allison had done the same.

“Smart. Brave. Dangerous,” he sighed, letting his eyes flutter shut.

“So, exactly like us, then?” Allison smiled into his shoulder.

“Exactly,” he agreed quietly, as the two drifted off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title comes from the poem "Mutability [We are as clouds that veil the midnight moon]" by Percy Bysshe Shelley.
> 
> Despite the weirdness, I really liked this idea, but I just couldn't get it to flow the way I wanted. There are two extras for this one, though, and I'll probably write a third.
> 
> Next week: I'll start posting a multi-chapter TW/Supernatural crossover, and there will likely be another little something as well.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	7. withheld

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Allison, Lydia, Kira, and Stiles are forced out of Beacon Hills, they wind up in New Orleans, where Stiles's legacy is waiting for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Tags: Stiles (and Company) Leaves Beacon Hills, Magical Stiles Stilinski 
> 
> This is actually two combined chapters of what would have been a larger fic; I'll tell you why I abandoned it in the end notes.
> 
> Happy reading!

In the end, they leave because they have to. It didn’t matter that it was a spell that made the wolves act as they did; for Stiles, Lydia, Allison, and Kira, the spell uncovered some ugly truths about their places in the pack that couldn’t be ignored.

What had started as minor disagreements between members of the pack—Scott saying that Kira had been underprepared for a fight, or Isaac claiming that Allison had been too aggressive—had, over the course of about three weeks, turned into the pack expelling all non-wolves. Scott even went so far as to suggest that it would be “better for the harmony of the pack” if the four of them left town. When Stiles had balked at the suggestion that he leave his dad behind, the wolves on the lacrosse team made the suggestion a little more forcefully, sending Stiles to the hospital with a broken arm and dozens of bruises. Stiles didn’t go to another lacrosse practice after that, honestly concerned about what his suddenly former friends might do to him.

The girls didn’t have it any better. During school, the pack mocked Kira for her clumsiness and spread vicious rumors about her dad. They repeatedly left Allison bloody gifts in her locker and “accidentally” collided with her in the hallway. It was harder for the pack to intimidate Lydia, especially at school, so they took to stalking her and keeping her awake at night with threatening calls and howling outside her house. In the meantime, both Stiles and Lydia were reading everything they could get their hands on, while Kira and Allison were asking their respective parents if they knew anything about what was happening to the wolves. However, no answers were forthcoming, and things were steadily getting worse for the group.

It was only after Lydia was almost run off of the road that the four decided to talk to Dr. Deaton. They had avoided him thus far because he was, if only loosely, the emissary for Scott’s pack and a friend to the Hales as well. The four non-wolves weren’t sure what kind of reception they would get from the man. They weren’t making much progress with their research, though, and they had to do something, so they chose an afternoon when they knew the wolves would be training, and drove to the clinic together.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Stilinski, ladies,” he said, offering a small, if genuine, smile. “What can I do for you?”

The quartet glanced at each other. “Scott didn’t tell you?”

Deaton’s smile vanished. “I’m afraid you’ll have to tell me.”

“We were kicked out of the pack for reasons unknown, and told to get out of town.”

Lydia picked up the story. “When we didn’t leave, the pack got increasingly aggressive and threatening.”

“We can’t just leave our families,” Kira added, “but we can’t keep living like this. What if they decide to hurt one of our parents?”

“We’ve been researching since we noticed the problem, but we need help.” Stiles hoped that even the vet couldn’t help them directly, he would point them in the right direction. “Please.”

Deaton, who looked increasingly troubled as the group spoke, immediately moved for a large, faded book on the shelf behind him. “This sounds like the curse of the broken mirror.” He opened the book to a specific page and pushed the book toward the others. “It brings out the worst in everyone it affects—they become paranoid, sometimes delusional, and even the smallest slight is taken as a punishable offence.” Giving Allison an apologetic glance, he continued, “It was originally developed by a witch who wanted to divert attention from herself to a nearby pack. It’s generally used to drive supernaturals insane, giving hunters an excuse to kill them.”

“Why target our pack, though? We haven’t had a major conflict in a long time.”

“That, I do not know.” Dr. Deaton assessed the group for a few moments; though they tried to hide it, they all looked exhausted, and a bit afraid. “I have a suggestion, but I don’t think you’ll like it. The Beacon Hills pack has made quite the reputation in the supernatural community, and that is not always a good thing.” He moved to flip the clinic’s sign to closed. “We need to talk about survival.”

<> <>

Deaton had been right; the four friends had hated the plan that he gave them. Even now as they sat on the crowded bus and watched the scenery go by, each of them privately thought about how they were abandoning Beacon Hills to the mercy of a pack of literally crazy werewolves. They also knew, however, that breaking the curse was a long-term project, and that the four of them were no longer safe in Beacon Hills. Deaton had emphasized that though he believed them all to be mature, capable individuals, they were very likely to be irrevocably hurt or killed by the pack the longer they stayed in town. If they left, Deaton explained, the wolves would likely turn their focus to the Preserve, seeking to protect their territory over all else. Threats to the territory would be dealt with harshly, but the rest of the town would be ignored. It took a few hours, but Deaton finally convinced the four to be ruthlessly practical—run and save themselves, for once.

Hence, the bus ride to New Orleans and Stiles's godparents.

New Orleans held fond memories for Stiles; family on both his mother’s and his father’s sides had lived there almost since the city’s founding. He hadn’t gotten to see his family as often as he would have liked, but he hadn’t even been aware of the feud as a child. The extended family seemed to randomly appear, one or two at a time, talk to his parents about grown-up stuff, and leave. They all seemed very mysterious, and at the time one of Stiles’s favorite pastimes had been making up elaborate stories about them in his head.

Years later, Stiles could count on one hand the number of relatives that acknowledged his existence.

For one summer, at least, Stiles had had friends who weren’t Scott. After his mom died, when no one from either family came to the funeral except for his Aunt Katya, his dad cut off contact with both families. As they moved closer, Stiles had told the others the bare minimum about his history with the city’s supernatural: the feud; the general distrust among vampires, werewolves, and witches; and the Mikaelson family.

Stiles had no intention of contacting either of his parents’ families while he and his friends were in town. The only allies he planned on reaching out to were the Mikaelsons. Sure, they were homicidally-inclined vampires (and witches), but they had always been like family. They had taken care of Stiles while his dad was still drowning his grief in alcohol, and, despite their flaws, he missed them dearly.

Despite its charm, the supernatural quarter of New Orleans was particularly dangerous to outsiders, and Stiles doubted that most of its residents would remember him after ten years, so walking through this part of town was a bad idea, patronage or no. Instead, the friends hailed a cab. Stiles could tell immediately that the driver wasn’t human; he just hoped that the driver wasn’t also using his job to catch a meal.

“First time in the Big Easy, kids? I can surely show you all of the hot spots.” His grin held entirely too many teeth for Stiles’s liking.

Stiles forced a pleasant smile onto his face. “Actually, I’ve been here before. We need to go to the Abattoir, please.” Because manners matter when trying to convince a dangerous stranger to drive a group of teenagers to an even more dangerous location.

“Are you sure you want to go there, kid?” The girls noticed that the driver suddenly looked a bit pale, and turned to Stiles with concerned looks. “It’s not really safe for cute little things like you.”

“Absolutely.” Stiles paused. “Why? Is there another war going on in the Quarter?” he knew there wasn't, but the question would make the driver wonder how Stiles knew about the war in the first place, and might discourage any nefarious plans the guy had underway.

The driver flushed, and for a minute, Stiles thought that the man was going to kick them out of the taxi; instead, he glanced at the girls in the back through his rearview mirror and said, “It’s your funeral”, and drove them to their destination.

<> <>

When Stiles had first mentioned his family in New Orleans, Lydia could tell that there was a lot that her friend wasn't saying. Prior to that family tree assignment, everyone had thought that the Sheriff was the only family that Stiles had left. Then Stiles had gotten up in front of his history class and talked about his Dad’s reclusive Russian family and Mother’s eccentric French one, and how the Russians moved to New Orleans and encountered his Mom’s family, and how they fought like the Hatfields and McCoys (although it was more of a cold war with lots of unexplained injuries, but few deaths). Stiles’s parents had run away for love, and they (and Stiles by extension), had had little contact with the rest of his family. Looking around the classroom, Lydia could tell that the rest of the pack had been surprised as well, except for Scott. When they had cornered Stiles at lunch to ask him more, Stiles had refused to answer questions, and Scott had simply shrugged, smiled apologetically, and said that any information he knew was private. Not even Allison’s flirting could get Scott to reveal his friend’s secrets. After a few unsuccessful attempts at digging for information, Lydia had put her questions about Stiles’s family to the back of her mind in case she ever needed them again, but dropped the subject.

Now, staring up at the compound, Lydia wondered just how much about himself Stiles had concealed. Stiles had said that his friends were powerful, and could help them, but once again had neglected to give many details. Watching Stiles stride purposely toward the door, though, Lydia couldn’t help but think that her friend looked more at ease here (in an even bigger supernatural hotspot) than he did in Beacon Hills.

“Well, it doesn’t look like a slaughterhouse,” Allison commented, she and Kira following behind Stiles.

“It feels like one, though,” Lydia murmured softly, hefting her bag on her shoulders and following her friends.

By the time Lydia made it to the door, Stiles was arguing with whoever had answered their knocking.

“…I don’t care who you are,” the other man said, “I’m not letting a bunch of kids in here.” Another man appeared behind the first, took one look at the kids, and walked away.

“If you would just go and get one of them, you could—“ Kira pulled Stiles out of the way as the man growled and attempted to swipe at the human. Allison tensed, ready to jump in, and Lydia glided forward to catch the man’s attention.

“We’ll be going,” she said, and, with a flip of her hair, turned her back on the werewolf. “Please tell the Mikaelsons that Stiles Stilinski called. We’ll find a hotel, thank you.” The others had little choice but to follow her.

<> <>

Charlie Haveraux understood that he was mostly muscle for Jackson and Hayley’s pack, but there was no way he was going to let a bunch of grimy teenagers into the compound. He didn’t care why the kid thought that the family was interested in him—the idiot probably thought Rebekah had smiled at him on the street or something, and come to offer his devotion. Well, he could get himself killed later, when the summit was over. Even when Tommy had sensed his agitation and come up behind him, Charlie had still found himself unable to stamp out his irritation at the group. He shouldn’t have lost control, of course, but the kids had left, and that was all that really mattered.

The main atrium of the compound was full of supernaturals celebrating Hope’s birthday. The birthday girl herself had more cake on her face and dress than in her stomach, but her happy squeals assured that the rest of the Original family would stay in a festive mood. Charlie put the earlier incident out of his mind, concentrating instead on having a good time.

The next day marked the second week of the negotiations between the witches and the vampire/werewolf alliance. Though some witching families were still resistant, the majority saw the benefits to presenting a united front against other significant threats. The fact that many of the most gifted witches in the state had predicted the arrival of a new power to the area also facilitated the willingness to negotiate. That didn’t mean, of course, that negotiations were easy; in fact, more than one person had stormed out the last time the group had met. Not to mentioning the snarling, growling, hissing, and hexing that happened when people got really irritated.

The usual mix of powerful and compelling individuals were gathered in one of the Mikaelson’s sitting rooms, idly chatting about the previous night. Charlie and another wolf and vampire were tasked with providing silent muscle—if anything attacked, Charlie and the other two would attempt to subdue it while the others escaped. It was a thankless job, but at least the three of them were ignored by the group. Charlie was mentally planning his weekend when he heard one of the witches say that the new powers had arrived in New Orleans. That pronouncement had everyone’s attention.

“What if they try to make contact?”

“We should kill them.”

“But what if their abilities would be of use to us?”

Elijah Mikaelson silenced the group with an outstretched hand. “Why don’t we simply ask the new power its intentions? We can always dispose of it later.”

Tommy looked toward Charlie, eyes narrowed. “A group of youngsters showed up last night, asking to see the Mikaelsons. Mr. Haveraux turned them away.”

Charlie gulped as all heads turned his way. “They asked for us, specifically?” Elijah asked, sounding intrigued.

“They were just some scrawny teenagers. The boy wanted to come in, but I scared them off.”

“Did they give you any indication of what they wanted?”

“No…one of the girls said the boy’s name, but it was weird…and the last name was like that Russian family, the Stilinskis. Maybe he was related to them?”

The sudden, vicious snarl coming from Klaus Mikaelson startled everyone. “Was the boy named Stiles, perhaps?”

Charlie stood frozen. “Yes?”

If anything, that made Klaus even angrier. “Are you asking or telling?” Klaus moved closer to him, and Charlie fought the urge to run.

Thankfully, Elijah intervened, putting his hand on his brother’s shoulder. They had some sort of silent conversation with each other before Niklaus finally acquiesced with a small nod. He turned to the vampire bodyguard in the room. “Find Marcellus. I want to meet him within the hour.” The hybrid left the room before anyone had the wherewithal to stop him. Elijah simply apologized for the interruption, appointed Gia his second for negotiations, and followed his brother.

Forty-seven minutes later, the Mikaelsons, Marcellus, Jackson and Hayley, and Davina were sitting in one of the family’s private sitting rooms.

“What is going on, Klaus? This alliance will protect all of us. It will protect our daughter. You can’t just walk out of the talks.”

“What I am about to say must remain in this room. I will not hesitate to enthusiastically eviscerate anyone who does not comply.” He looked to his siblings, who were watching him with interest. He turned to Marcel. “I need you to find someone as quickly and quietly as possible. Under no circumstances are you to harm him or anyone who is with him. Is that understood?” The other vampire nodded, and Klaus considered the others briefly before turning back to his siblings. “We believe that Stiles is in town.”

“Is he okay? Is he hiding from his family? Why hasn’t he come here?” The name didn’t mean anything to her, but Davina watched in awe as Kol and Rebekah fired questions at their brother. “How long has he been in the city? Have you spoken with his father? Who do we need to kill—“

“We don’t have any answers yet,” Elijah broke the tide of questions, “but a boy came to the compound last night seeking admittance and asking to speak to the Mikaelsons. He and the others he was with were turned away by the guards.”

“He wouldn’t come here without warning unless something was wrong,” Rebekah said, worry lacing her tone.

Elijah and Niklaus exchanged a look. “We agree. Which is why we need to find him and his companions as soon as possible.”

“You want me and my guys to look for them?” Firm nods followed the question. Marcel had been watching the family silently; he was surprised to note that the Originals all seemed to care deeply about this person. “Who is this ‘Stiles’?”

“And why should we care about them,” Hayley interrupted, “when we have more than enough to worry about right now? Just because Hope is older doesn’t mean that she’s in any less danger.”

“Hope is well-protected, as you well know. Stiles is like a brother to us,” Kol answered fiercely. “We would let these idiotic talks fall apart if it kept Stiles safe.”

Hayley would have laughed at the melodrama of it, except none of the Mikaelsons seemed surprised at his proclamation.

“I understand that you want to protect this boy, but why threaten us with secrecy?” Davina asked.

“Because Stiles is the Mercier-Stilinski child.”

Davina froze. The silence that followed that statement was palpable. Everyone knew the story of the two witches from feuding families who had run off together, never to be seen in the city again.

The heirs of two powerful families producing a child would likely be the power the other witches saw in their visions. Such an heir being allied with the Originals would be a tremendous threat to the rest of the area.

“Grisha and Claudia had little contact with either family after they left. Very few people knew how to find the two of them, let alone knew that they were married with a son. After Claudia’s death, Grisha cut off what little contact he had with his family here, partially out of grief, and partially to protect Stiles.”

“Why exactly am I involved in this conversation?” Jackson jumped in. “I’m sympathetic, of course, but what do you expect me to do?”

“This is the other bit of information that needs absolute discretion,” Klaus said, glaring meaningfully at Jackson and Hayley. “Stiles is a part of the Beacon Hills pack.” In the same way that all witches knew the story of Stiles’s parents, every werewolf knew the story of the Beacon Hills pack: how it rose from the ashes of the respected Hale pack, combined with a pack of mismatched teenagers with varying abilities, and emphatically defended its territory against multiple threats. The pack boasted the true alpha of the teenaged pack, the Hale alpha, and other wolves; it also claimed a banshee, a kitsune, a coyote, and multiple human members who were as loyal as the wolves themselves. The rarity of so many non-wolves in a wolf pack, coupled with their repeated defenses of a magically active area, had made Beacon Hills an often-discussed spot among the supernatural community. “Your wolves will not approach him. He is human, and inclined to stay that way. If I hear of any of them harassing Stiles or his guests, I will have a new wolf-skin rug for the foyer. If necessary, I’ll make more than one and rotate them around the grounds; I assure you, I would be delighted to do so.”

<> <>

Marcel Gerard was not one for dramatics, but it was not an exaggeration to say that he was very close to beating his head against the wall. The negotiations had continued, but everyone could tell that the Mikaelsons were distracted, which put everyone else on edge as well. It had been three days since the party, and his vampires still hadn’t found the boy. Marcel was afraid of what would happen if Stiles had left New Orleans, and he suspected the vampire population of the city wouldn’t survive it.

The only theories that Marcel had as to why Stiles and his friends hadn’t been found were that either someone was helping them, or that they were using magic to hide. If Stiles really was as powerful as Klaus had implied, both options were possible. Unfortunately, the Mikaelsons didn’t want witches involved in the search, either. Neither the Originals nor Stiles wanted the boy to run into his parents’ bloodlines, and too much magic would draw the witches’ attention. The vampires were good at getting information, but they didn’t scry like witches or track like wolves, so they were struggling. Marcel didn’t want to tell the family he couldn’t find their friend, but he wasn’t sure what else he could accomplish without help.

<> <> <>

Saturday was Park Day. Almost every Saturday since she married Jackson, Hayley and Rebekah would bundle Hope up and take her to the park. In the beginning, it was simply a way to get away from the testosterone and enjoy the fresh air; now, Hope was big enough to be on the playground and interact with the other children (much to Klaus’s dismay). At four, Klaus thought Hope was still too young to be out in the world, but Hayley wouldn’t let him cloister their daughter. Hope needed human interaction, and no one would risk the exposure of attacking a park full of humans to get to her.

This particular Saturday was no different. The weather was sunny and mild, and the park was full of laughing, screaming children and happy adults. Hope took off for the playground as soon as Hayley let go of her hand, squealing as she tried to get up on some contraption that looked vaguely like a horse. The older woman would have moved to help her, but everyone in the compound had learned that offering Hope unwanted help usually led to magical retaliation later. Hope wasn’t malicious, but living with blue hair for a week was inconvenient and annoying, so “helping” the girl was best avoided.

Hayley and Rebekah spent their time chatting, avoiding heavy subjects like the talks and the missing friend, and focusing more on TV shows and whether it was Klaus or Elijah who had bought Hope more clothes. And although Hayley was correct that Hope was safe in the park, she hadn’t considered that the impetuous young girl would sense something more interesting than the playground and wander away while her watchers were distracted.

After three days of hiding out and researching, Stiles was about to vibrate out of his skin. He knew that the ADHD was just his blocked magic, but being in New Orleans made it harder to ignore the buzz of power. He couldn’t truly see the spirits through his mother’s binding, but he could sometimes feel the heaviness in the air or catch a shadow out of the corner of his eye, so he knew they were there. The binding should have dissolved when he turned eighteen, but he had been so busy with graduating and dealing with monsters that he pushed the matter aside. He had finally found some time to work with Deaton over the summer to deal with the block and stabilize his magic before going back for his junior year of college, but then the curse had happened.

Allison, Kira, Lydia, and Stiles had settled into a comfortable routine of TV, take-out, and research, and had managed to find quite a bit of information about the magical happenings of New Orleans since their arrival in the city; they had even managed to find some information about the curse. They had each called their parents, and Dr. Deaton, to let them know that they were safe. None of them mentioned where they were, or when they might return, though the friends consoled themselves with the thought that Deaton probably knew where they were anyway.

Still, despite being comfortable in each other’s company, they needed to get out of their hotel room. The girls all wanted to see the sights, and Stiles wanted to go back to the Abattoir one more time before considering other options. Deciding to venture out slowly, they bought the necessities for a picnic lunch and decided to spend a couple of hours in the park.

It was tough finding a sunny but secluded area of the park to have their picnic. It was unlikely that the families in the park were paying them any attention, but having so many people in one area made the friends restless and slightly paranoid. They had no evidence that the rest of the pack could, or would, find them, but months of stalking and harassment had taken their toll and dictated too many of the group’s interactions with outsiders. They finally settled on the grass close to the tree line: near possible cover, away from the crowds, but still in the sun.

It was a nice lunch, despite everyone avoiding the topic of Beacon Hills. Stiles and Kira almost got into a food fight, and Allison laughed so hard she nearly had soda coming out of her nose, but the exasperated looks Lydia gave them were totally worth it. After the food was all gone and conversation had died down, Allison and Kira were dozing in the sun and Lydia reading when Stiles heard a giggle. He looked up from his phone to find an adorable little girl smiling and waving at him. He and Lydia watched with surprise as the girl simply walked over and plopped herself down on his lap. “Hi, Auntie Lydia.” A couple of long moments later, after receiving no response from the shocked banshee, the girl turned towards Stiles, as much as she could from her position on his lap. “Hi, Uncle Stiles. You don’t know me yet, but I’m Hope. Daddy and Auntie Bekah and everybody is looking for you. Can I play on your phone?”

It took Stiles a few moments to catch up to the conversation. The last time Stiles had been here, shortly after the nogitsune, Hope hadn’t yet been born. Stiles hadn’t come to terms with his possession, and so had purposely avoided everyone except for Elijah, Nik, and Bekah for the two weeks he had been in town. Despite the number of times they told him he was being ridiculous, Stiles hadn’t wanted to meet Hayley and taint the baby in any way. Now, the obviously happy little girl had found him. The task now would be getting her back where she belonged before any rampaging started. While Lydia woke the others and started packing, Stiles hefted Hope into his arms and went off in search of Mikaelsons.

<> <> <>

As soon as Rebekah realized that Hope was missing, she and Hayley had split up in search of the girl. By unspoken agreement, they had decided not to get Niklaus involved unless it was a last resort. Hayley cursed herself as she wandered through the swarms of people; she had taken her eyes off of her daughter for a moment, and now Klaus would kill her. Suddenly, Hayley noticed young man carrying Hope in her direction. Their eyes met and the wolf charged.

Stiles knew the second that his eyes met the werewolf’s that he was in big trouble. It would do no good to run, so he turned to give his back to the wolf and protect as much of Hope as possible. Hopefully, Lydia and the others would be able to get Hope to safety.

“NO, MOMMY!” Stiles heard Hope yell, and suddenly the wolf was falling backwards as if she had hit a wall. Hope clutched at Stiles and started crying, burying her face in his shoulder.

Rebekah, who had seen what had happened, ran forward, Stiles’s friends slightly behind her.

“Hope, Stiles, are you alright?” She looked them over critically, running her hands over Stiles before pulling him in for a half-hug. Focusing on Hope, she said, “You can’t run off like that, young lady. It’s dangerous and your dad would kill me.” At Hope’s small chuckle, she turned to glare at Stiles. “And you, how can you drop by and then disappear for three days? Ever heard of a phone?”

Stiles looked pained. “I’m sorry, Bekah. With the negotiations, whoever is playing receptionist for the compound wouldn’t patch me through.” Rebekah’s eyes flashed and Stiles grabbed her hand and squeezed. “Please don’t eviscerate the receptionist. I’m sure she’s really stressed and dealing with a lot of harassing phone calls.”

Hayley was watching the exchange with a mixture of confusion and fury. This boy had taken her child, and Rebekah seemed to be fine with it. Still, she held herself in check; a fight in the park would not go unnoticed. They were lucky that Hope’s yelling had been indistinguishable from the other children's noise the first time. “Give me back my daughter,” she snarled.

Rather than come towards her mother, however, Hope burrowed herself further in the boy’s chest. “No! You tried to hurt Uncle Stiles. I found him and Auntie Lydia and Miss Allison and Miss Kira and he needs me!” Hayley ignored the gasps coming from the other girls. Instead, she moved to grab her girl out of the boy’s arms when he spoke up.

“Hey, Hope?” The girl lifted her head just enough to look at him. “You did a good job finding us. Thanks for that. But it’s not a good idea to go off by yourself. What if Auntie Bekah needed your help while you were gone and she didn’t know how to find you?”

The little girl considered this, thoughtfully chewing on her bottom lip. “I’m sorry,” she said, not looking at anyone. Then she brightened. “Let’s go home so I can show Daddy that I found Uncle Stiles!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title comes from the poem "Into My Own" by Robert Frost.
> 
> To me, there were two main threads to this story: saving the pack, and discovering Stiles's heritage, and I was halfway through the third chapter when I realized that I sincerely didn't care what happened to the pack. I wasn't willing to just delete 5k of work, but if I kept going, I was eventually going to write myself into a corner, so I left it as is.


	8. captain of the night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is betrayed by his pack; he finds another, better life across the country with a group of superheroes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Tags: Temporary Character Death
> 
> I originally wanted this to be a two-parter, with the second part culminating in a confrontation between the pack and the Avengers (and with Peter and the goddesses causing trouble along the way), but considering I didn't want to kill anyone, I couldn't decide what that should look like.
> 
> (And if this first part gives you an idea, please feel free to write it.)
> 
> Enjoy!

PART I:

It was like something out of a horror movie, complete with the diverse group of friends and an evil, unshakable creature that the friends can't hope to defeat. It resembles a man, the creature does, but anyone who looks at it closely enough will recognize the pretense hiding just under the surface.

Of course, just when things seem hopeless, the evil thing offers them a deal: sacrifice one of their own, and everyone else lives.

Scott and Stiles immediately protest, but it takes an offensively short amount of time for Erica to start glancing in Stiles's direction. Then, Isaac and Boyd, and Jackson and Lydia turn his way as well; when Derek looks at him, Stiles knows his fate is sealed.

Stiles can barely hear Scott's protests over the sudden list of reasons the others are giving for why the pack human was the best sacrifice, but basically, Stiles is expendable and not really pack at all.

Ironically, if someone would have asked him the day before, Stiles would have said that he would willingly die for his friends. Now, he realized that he seemed to be the only one who could make that claim. Even Scott eventually stopped arguing against Stiles's death against the onslaught of arguments for it. Stiles wordlessly decided that would give his life for his dad, and the other deputies and their families, but…the pack was on their own. His death was not for them.

_“I'm sorry, man, but we’ll be able to protect the town better than you…”_

_“Lydia can take over your research for you…”_

_“You're the weakest link, Stilinski.”_

<> <>

The creature doesn't say anything, just watches on in distaste as the group chooses its victim. He sees recognition, acceptance, and anger roll through the boy in front of him, but his friends are too busy justifying their actions to offer the boy any comfort in his final hour.

He watches the boy watch the alpha as the pyre is prepared: the way the pack quietly distances themselves from their choice as they carry out the preparations, and dispassionately treat the boy as if he is suddenly a stranger to them.

Hale, who supposedly fears fire, practically manhandles the boy onto the pyre, going so far as to hold him down while the others bind him with ropes and cover him in accelerant, “so that he doesn't suffer longer than necessary”, they say.

The boy snorts and tells them to go to hell, and the creature hides a smile. This boy will make an excellent offering to his goddess; woe to this pack for not seeing the truth.

Preparations complete, the boy’s friend steps forward to offer apologies and ask for forgiveness; the man is inordinately pleased when the boy quite fervently refuses to accept them.

Some of the others rail at the lack of absolution, but the boy is resolute, even in the face of the alpha’s displeasure.

“This doesn't have to hurt, Stiles,” the alpha claims, moving forward again to knock the boy unconscious.

The creature rolls his eyes at the supposed kindness. The boy does the same.

“It's a little too late for that, Derek, considering you're getting ready to burn me alive and everything,” Stiles answers icily. “But whatever helps you sleep at night.”

The crack of the hit echoes in the sudden silence, and the group stares at their friend for a long while before they start the fire.

No one looks at the creature, or asks him to change his mind.

Stiles burns.

None of his friends are brave enough to stay long enough to see his body turn to ash.

 

PART II:

“Are you going to pick it up, or are you just going to keep staring at it until it becomes sentient and jumps around your wrist? Because I don't think Tony’s mastered that technology, yet.”

It was amazing, truly, and Stiles really did want to pick it up. It was a tremendous gift, more than he deserved, even if they were good friends now. Honestly, Tony and Pepper treated him like a son, and it was probably an insult not to take it, but he kept thinking about the last time he had something around his wrists…

 _Erica and Lydia, pulling so tightly on the ropes that he flinched, Derek glaring like Stiles was the one causing_ him _pain…_

“--tiles. Stiles!”

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and a part of him knew it was Tasha, but he shook it off and flung himself backward anyway, putting himself against the wall without truly thinking about it. _Just in case they tried to grab him again_ …

Stiles wasn't sure how long he stayed there, lost in the memories, but by the time he came back to himself he was draped over Tony's lap, and the rest of the Avengers were clustered around the two of them with concerned looks on their faces. Even Coulson looked worried ( _wasn't_ _he_ _supposed_ _to_ _be_ _out_ _of_ _town_?), and the agent used fewer facial expressions than Derek.

Stiles opened his mouth to make some quip about zombies and lack of sleep when a flash of black caught his eye.

“I'm fine, really,” he assured the bird, half-turning even as it ruffled its feathers at him. Everyone else startled at the sudden arrival of a crow that had appeared out of nowhere, though it was hardly an uncommon occurrence for Stiles. “It was just a memory,” Stiles reiterated when the crow cawed at him. “Don't get your feathers in a bunch.”

Ignoring everyone else, the bird cawed again and moved to perch itself on Stiles’s shoulder, pecking at Tony’s hand when he surreptitiously tried to brush the bird away.

Rather than pecking Stiles, however, the bird butted his head against the young man’s chest until Stiles shifted to give the bird a spot on his knee.

The looks on everyone else's faces at the interplay between them would have been comical if Stiles wasn't still shaking with anxiety. Still, it helped, and Stiles had to wonder if that was part of Seb’s purpose in showing himself to the Avengers.

“I know you've got your secrets, Stiles, but when exactly did you turn into Dr. Dolittle?” Tony asked, carefully moving his arms so as not to disturb the crow.

Stiles sighed. “I'm not, I--”

The crow cawed at him.

“ _Really_? It's not like I--”

The crow cawed again, louder this time.

“Fine, okay,” Stiles conceded, sagging against Tony.

Tony had no idea who this bird was, but as long as he didn't have any diseases, he could stay forever if he helped the kid heal. The engineer opened his mouth to suggest maybe going out for bird food when the crow swiveled to pin the whole room with a glare and then vanished between one blink and the next.

Stiles really wants to stay where he was, with Tony holding him, and close his eyes until everyone else goes away, but Seb has forced his hand. He has to give his friends _something_. He still hesitates, though, because he's afraid that once he starts talking about it, he won't be able to stop.

Finally, Stiles pushes himself up, gratefully accepting Steve's steadying hand on his shoulder. He throws himself into the nearest chair and puts his head down for a minute because he's not sure he’ll be able to say anything if he can see them watching him.

“Everything okay?” Steve asks kindly when Stiles straightens up again.

Stiles plasters a reassuring smile on his face, but he can tell by the corresponding frowns from Steve, Coulson, and Natasha behind them that he fails. Clint is actually watching him with more interest than concern, which is concerning in and of itself.

Stiles is just glad that Pepper isn't here, because he’s sure that she would want the SHIELD medics to look him over, at the very least. He can't look at Tony.

“You don't have to talk about it,” Natasha offers, after the silence stretches out uncomfortably.

Stiles wishes that were true. He knows Seb's right, though, and that he won't heal if he doesn't let it out. Ten years of letting the wound fester is more than enough, even he knows that. Besides, who better to deal with the craziness of his life than the Avengers?

Coulson must see the determined resignation on his face, because he asks, “Does your story involve where you go most evenings?”

“Not the beginning,” he sighs. “Let me get through as much of this as I can, okay?”

“I grew up in California, in a nice town called Beacon Hills. My mom died when I was a kid, and my dad worked too much, but...I was happy. When I was sixteen, my best friend became a werewolf. The next three years of my life were spent fighting various monsters and trying to keep my friends alive. One day, a man came to town. He wasn't really a man, but. Anyway, he...he had threatened the town and there was no way that we were going to beat him. He offered to leave if, if we would give him a sacrifice.”

“What happened?” Coulson asked. He's keeping Stiles's eyes on him, and Stiles is grateful, because he can see both Tony and Clint moving restlessly in his peripheral vision, and it's making him anxious.

“Long story short? My friends decided that werewolfiness trumped intelligence and loyalty and chose to sacrifice me.”

“Excuse me?” Tony yelled, loudly, though everyone seems equally upset.

Stiles made himself keep talking. “They chose me,” he confirmed. He huffs out a laugh that sounds wrong even to his ears. “Because I was human, and they thought that they were better than me. The sad thing was, I would have gladly died for them if they hadn't made it clear that I was useless to them.”

“Obviously, you survived,” Coulson concluded, after a long, weighty moment of silence.

“No, I didn't,” he said flatly.

<> <>

It was nearly four in the morning when Stiles trudged back into the tower, exhausted and covered in stuff he really didn't want to think about. Hunts were always a combination of thrilling and terrifying, and Sasha was always waiting for him when he got home, ready to curl up with him and help keep away the nightmares.

The tawny hound was already had already sprawled herself over his pillows and barely opened an eye when Stiles walked in, but by the time he had taken his shower and wandered back into the bedroom, she had shifted just enough to let him crawl into bed before draping herself over Stiles like a blanket.

There was no way that Tony and Pepper wouldn't notice the bruises tomorrow, not with everyone hyper-focused on him at the moment. Coulson had stopped asking questions as soon as it was clear Stiles simply wasn't in a place to answer them anymore, but Stiles knew that the talk wasn't finished. He couldn't just tell them that he had died, and leave it at that. Even if Stiles never told them where he went in his spare time, Tony wouldn't be able to handle not knowing the circumstances surrounding Stiles's stint with death.

He briefly considered taking a sick day before deciding that he didn't want Tony or Steve breaking down his door, and forced himself to go to work.

Which was an awful, awful idea considering the still-healing gash in his side and his pounding headache, but hey, nobody's perfect.

<> <>

 _Somebody_ must be looking out for him today, because Stiles makes it to his office without anyone stopping him. The two meetings he was supposed to attend get cancelled, and Thor needed the Avengers, so they're all out of town on a mission.

He's just about to mentally congratulate himself for making it through another week when Coulson knocks on his door and pokes his head in.

“Do you have a few minutes to talk?”

 _For the conversation you want to have? No. How about you get back to me in a few years?_ “Sure, come on in.”

Stiles can count on one hand the number of times that Coulson has been to his office but the agent looks surprisingly comfortable in the space. It actually reminds him of Peter for a second, the way Coulson just seems to come into a room and effortlessly claim it as his own.

He gives himself a handful of heartbeats to think about Beacon Hills before he shakes it off and turns back to his visitor.

“What do you want to know?”

“Did you know that your father tried to declare you missing?” Coulson asks, not unkindly. “The paperwork was never completed, so I imagine anyone who looked into it would assume that you’d been found.”

Stiles sighed. He had known, and it had been one of the hardest decisions he'd ever made, choosing not to inform his dad of his return to the land of the living. Maybe if it had only been a year or two--

“Have you ever considered letting him know that you survived?”

“I _didn't_ survive,” he snarls. He hears whining, and it takes him a moment to realize that Sasha is there, pressing herself against him. Coulson doesn't look the least bit fazed by Sasha’s sudden appearance, but he does look like he maybe wants to hug him, so Stiles leans back and the other man doesn't push. “They tied me to a sacrificial pyre and burned me alive, although Derek did do me the courtesy of knocking me out first.”

Coulson raises an eyebrow, but doesn't interrupt.

“When I woke up again, the Morrigan was there, asking me to choose. As a boon for my sacrifice, I could move on...or I could come back.”

“How long were you gone?”

“I stayed...away...for a couple of years, working with the Morrigan. Then, I came to New York, got my degree--”

“And saved Pepper’s life by using one of Stark’s shiny new inventions as a blunt object,” Coulson adds dryly.

“It was there, and I didn't have time to read the instructions,” Stiles shrugs unrepentantly at the familiar jest. After two years, he still has scientists who jokingly “protect” their work when he walks into their labs.

“Is the Morrigan the one who sent the crow and the dog?” he asks, inclining his head at the hound now lying at Stiles’s feet.

“Seb, the crow, is the Morrigan’s. Sasha belongs to Hecate.”

“Hecate?”

“Greek goddess of the moon and magic and some other cool stuff. I met her when I was helping a guy retrieve an enchanted pendant; evidently, the guy was one of her acolytes and she appreciated the positive PR since Hecate has been pretty demonized over the years. As far as most of the supernatural world is concerned, I work for the Morrigan, but Hecate...likes to keep an eye on me. She's like the cool older sister I never had.”

“May I ask what you do for the Morrigan?”

“Have you heard of the Wild Hunt?” Stiles asks.

“I assume the name is self-explanatory?” the man guesses.

Stiles nods slightly. “Most people think of Europe for that kind of thing, but hunts happen all around the world. Hunts are one of the reasons why the supernatural has remained hidden from human eyes.”

“What does that mean for you?”

“Most cultures have stories of the Wild Hunt, or something like it.” Stiles takes a deep breath and stares at the man across from him, willing him to understand. “We are the judges and executioners of our world. Kind of like SHIELD, but more permanent.”

Coulson nods thoughtfully. “Do you want me to be the one to tell the others? I don't want Tony to throw a fit when he sees your face.”

<> <>

Stiles probably should have expected it, especially considering his surprisingly relaxing weekend, but Stiles could barely fit in his office for the sheer number of Avengers packed inside it when he got to work on Monday. Tony was sitting in his chair, Steve and Natasha were using the guest chairs, and Clint was impossibly perched on one of his filing cabinets in a way that seemed to defy the laws of gravity.

Before Stiles really had a chance to properly take in the situation, Tony came around the desk and pulled Stiles into a hug, babbling about bodyguards and gods and magic and “never getting near another werewolf again, ever”. Natasha shared Tony's sentiment, but with ninety percent less babble and more offers of self-defense training. Steve asked about his dad, said he was there for whatever Stiles might need, and invited him out to lunch. Clint offered to shoot someone on his behalf, and Thor made a very long speech about dishonor and the kin of Fenrir that Stiles would have been much more willing to listen to if he wasn't in the middle of an emotional breakdown.

Stiles cried all over Tony's shoulder afterward, but thankfully, all of the Avengers were nice enough to pretend not to notice.

<> <>

“I found him,” Peter announced, unable to keep the excitement out of his voice.

Truthfully, it was taking everything Peter had not to rush over to the Sheriff's house right now; but he really needed to make this call first.

“Is he safe?”

Deaton couldn't see it, but the wolf smirked at the phone anyway. “Evidently, he’s been pseudo-adopted by Tony Stark.”

“Will you contact him?”

“I want to,” Peter admitted, “but I think that doing so may do more harm than good, at this point.”

“I assume you aren't going to tell the others?”

Peter scoffed. “If the pack were to go to New York, one of two things would happen: Stiles would be angry, and the pack would likely be decimated by whatever patron deity raised Stiles in the first place; or the pack would assume that Stiles was a doppelganger and attack, still leading to Stiles’s patron attacking the pack. While that would likely be amusing, likely for me and the defending deity, Stiles shouldn't be subjected to their company again if we can prevent it.”

“Send me the information, and tell the Sheriff not to worry. We won’t let anything else happen to Stiles.”

“I know,” Peter agreed with a low growl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title comes from the poem "Invictus" by William Ernest Henley
> 
> Next week: I've got good news and bad news. The good news is that I posted three week's worth of stuff this week; the bad news is that I did that because I'm not going to be posting again until June 27 (although I will respond to comments).
> 
> On June 27, I'll be posting the third parts to both of my ongoing series: the MCU Clint/Stiles crossover and the Peter/Stiles + ghost Allison fic.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	9. little while away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After leaving Beacon Hills, Stiles runs into someone he's not supposed to talk to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Tags: Stiles (and Company) Leaves Beacon Hills, Magical Stiles Stilinski
> 
> This is directly related to Chapter 7, the "running away to New Orleans" fic; it's a little bit more of what I wrote before I gave that story up.

Stiles glanced up from his coffee to find a scruffy, blond-haired, blue-eyed man staring at him over his newspaper. Stiles couldn’t remember his name, but he recognized him from the many pictures that his parents had shown him of their relatives. This was one of his dad's brothers—Dmitri, maybe? The boy couldn’t decide if he should ignore the man, or walk out, or call for backup. Lydia and the others would be there soon; he just had to hold out for a few more minutes. The man didn’t seem threatening, but Stiles well knew that appearances could be deceiving. Before he could make a decision, though, the man stood up from his own table and moved toward Stiles.

“Excuse me,” a deep voice said, startling Stiles. “May I sit here?”

Stiles thought furiously, trying to come up with the best response. If he said “no”, it would either look suspicious or like he was uncomfortable around strangers, both of which could be bad. If he said “yes”, he might be acknowledging that the man was familiar, which he didn’t want to do, or he could be seen as an idiot for engaging in conversation with an unknown witch. There were other possibilities, of course, but very few of them made him look good. Still, his parents had both taught him to be polite, so there really was only one thing to say. “Of course, please,” he replied, motioned for the man to take a seat.

The man stared at him for another uncomfortable moment before starting visibly, then smiling apologetically at Stiles. “My apologies,” he began, “but my name is Dmitri Stilinski. You somehow look familiar to me. Have we met before?”

Stiles was very thankful that this guy wasn’t a vampire or were-creature; they definitely would have heard his heart skip. There were only eight relatives of his parents that he had met as a child: six on his dad's side, two on his mom’s. His dad's sister Katya had been by far the most frequent visitor; she’d come around every few years. Stiles remembered her as beautiful and carefree, with dark hair and eyes like the ocean; she had been the only one to attend his mom’s funeral. She had let Stiles cry into her shoulder without telling him that everything would be fine. He had also met Ivan, Dad’s cousin, who had let a five-year-old Stiles crawl all over him like a jungle gym and played cars with him for hours; Stiles had been sad when his Dad and Ivan argued, because Ivan hadn’t come back to play after that. Stiles also had vague memories of three great-grandparents, of jasmine and clove and lullabies, and other cousin.

But no, Stiles had never met his Uncle Dmitri, because his dad had refused to even talk about his brothers after his mom’s death. Stiles kept the albums his parents gave him in the back of his closet, but he rarely looked at them.

At least his uncle had asked him a question he could answer honestly. “I’m sorry, but we haven’t ever met. Perhaps you have me confused with someone else?”

  
If anything, Stiles’s comment _increased_ the amount of scrutiny that his uncle was giving him. Stiles stifled a sigh.

“Forgive me for being forward, but do you live in the area?” his uncle asked, leaning forward like he wanted to touch Stiles.

Stiles shook his head, and leaned back slightly, hoping the other man would take the hint. Touching was definitely out, especially when dealing with unfamiliar witches. “I’m from California.”

Stiles could see the man searching for questions, trying to figure him out. Thankfully, he was rescued by the girls’ arrival. Lydia took in Stiles and his uncle with narrowed eyes, then marched right up to the table and took his arm. “Excuse me,” she said, “we’ve been waiting for you across the street. We were thinking of getting a late lunch. Are you coming?” Stiles forced a smile and apologized as Lydia dragged him from the café toward the place where the others were waiting.

Once Lydia had deemed them an acceptable distance away from the café, she asked the obvious question. “That was one of your relatives, wasn’t it?”

Stiles grimaced, but nodded. “That was Dmitri, one of my dad's older brothers.”

Lydia side-eyed him. “How many siblings does your brother have?”

“I have six uncles and two aunts on my dad’s side; Dad is the youngest.”

“He’s a seventh son?” Lydia asked, eyes wide.

Stiles shrugged. “Not that he acts like it, but yeah.”

“Do you think your uncle recognized you?”

“No, but he was definitely suspicious, so I appreciate the save. I’m sure I’ll see him again, though,” he sighed, unsure if that was a good thing or not.

<> <>

Dmitri Stilinski hadn’t planned on going into the café at all—he much preferred getting a quiet drink with friends to navigating the flow of a busy coffee shop. However, as soon as he was within walking distance of the place, his feet had moved without his body’s permission, drawn by the muted but steady pulse of soothing magic. Before he quite knew what he was doing, he had purchased a drink and sat at a table against the far wall of the shop, giving him a view of most everyone in the place. His gaze was drawn to a young man with dark hair who was reading and occasionally sipping his drink. The young man looked up after a few minutes, and Dmitri nearly gasped at the pull he felt toward the boy; he had little choice but to follow it.

He had expected to be turned away when he reached the boy’s table; being given the (albeit small) chance to question the witch was too good of an opportunity to miss. In his experience, even evasive answers provided their own tiny pieces of information if you were looking at the right puzzle. Whether the young man was a threat or not, Dmitri thought that he was likely related to the prophesied new powers in the area. Whoever these powers were, they had been keeping a low profile and everyone was anxiously waiting for whatever changes their arrivals might bring. Despite the lack of information from his encounter, the older witch realized that he was no longer apprehensive about the potential changes; instead, he almost felt excited about the prospect of seeing the young man again.

The Stilinski clan was known among the supernatural residents of Louisiana to be ruthless, but fair. They had escaped Russia with the deaths of the Romanovs, coming to New Orleans for reasons known only to themselves. Anya and Konstantin Stilinski protected their growing family with extreme prejudice, setting the tone quickly with the other witch families in the city. The two witches brought with them various extended family members, as well as their beloved sons Viktor and Dmitri. Over the years, the Stilinski pair built both a strong base of power and expanded their own family, adding seven more children: Katya, Alexei, Zakhar, Ilya, Liliya, Yuri, and Grigory. Grigory, as a seventh son of a seventh son, cemented the family’s power and briefly brought them to the attention to the Mikaelsons, the city’s ruling family. The Stilinskis largely ignored politics, however, and so frequently avoided the ire of the Original vampires that many of the other clans courted.

Dmitri suspected that the Originals were responsible for the new powers in the city being hidden, but whether they were hiding with or from the vampires was up for debate, at least among his family. His aunt Zofia had been one of the seers who had announced the coming of the new powers all those months ago, only to promptly burst into tears afterward. Her refusal to explain why she was crying had put the family so on edge that Dmitri had been stressed out ever since.

After today, though, he only felt a kind of peace, like something important and long missing had been returned to him. He would mention it when the clan met for supper; perhaps one of them would be able to explain his strange afternoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title comes from the poem "Flower-Gathering" by Robert Frost.


	10. return to me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott can't bring himself to forgive Stiles after the nogitsune. Fortunately, Stiles still has friends he can rely on; unfortunately, none of them can save him when tragedy strikes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Tags: Post-Nogitsune, Stiles is Pushed Out of the Pack, Temporarily Character Death
> 
> This does not end in a very happy place. It would have, eventually, had I continued it, but...fair warning.

“Don't you dare do this, Scott.” Lydia's voice rang clearly through the door, and Stiles felt himself grin. No one could take someone to task like Lydia Martin. “Stiles doesn't deserve this.”

Stiles froze.

“The nogitsune--”

“Was not Stiles's fault, and you know it. Allison is fine, everyone is fine. Except Stiles, who you keep pushing away for things that weren't his fault and he can't remember. Your feelings are influencing the rest of the pack. They're shutting him out.”

Stiles's heart was pounding so hard in his chest he didn't know how Scott couldn't hear it. He wanted to turn around and leave, but his feet wouldn't let him. He had noticed that the pack had been a little more indifferent to him lately, but he had put it down to stress, or missing Derek. He hadn't realized that things went deep enough to kick him out of the pack.

“Maybe that's for the best. Just for a little while and--”

“Are you insane?” Lydia exploded. “If you do this, you’ll regret it.”

Stiles stumbled as Scott's door came flying open, a furious Lydia in its wake. She didn't even see him, and Stiles was suddenly glad that he hadn't driven here as Lydia stomped to her car and pulled away.

Stiles turned back to see Scott staring at him from the doorway. “How much of that did you hear?”

Ah. That was Scott's, “I've made up my mind and I'm not going to change it because I know I'm right” voice. Lydia had been arguing against the inevitable.

“Enough.” He scuffed his shoe against the porch, but made no move to go inside, and Scott didn't offer. “I understand. I don't like it, and I don't think that I deserve it, but I get it.”

Scott winced. “We can still be friends.”

Stiles snorted at his friend’s naivety and shook his head. “Except that we can't, because you resent me for things that I can't remember, and the rest of the pack is avoiding me for the same reasons.” He didn't even have the strength to argue, really. His brain might not remember what the nogitsune did, but his body was exhausted. His mind kept going through all of the things he would need to do to extricate himself from the pack while Scott talked carried on with his reasoning. He tuned back in as the wolf was finishing up.

“...I'm sorry, Stiles. I have to think of the pack,” he said finally.

Stiles offered him a sad smile as he turned to leave. “Sure. See you later, Scott.”

<> <>

Stiles only found out that he had been officially ejected from the pack when Lydia showed up at his door, seething. He had been expecting it for a couple of weeks, though, so it had taken longer than expected.

It would have been ridiculously juvenile if it hadn't been so sad, seeing Liam literally cross the street to avoid him, or hearing Erica and Boyd literally stop talking the moment he came within earshot.

Still, he couldn't help the little thrill in his heart at Lydia's defense of him.

Over the next month, Stiles and his former pack settled into an awkward kind of rhythm. The pack tried not to visit the Sheriff when Stiles was around, and Stiles only visited Deaton for magic training when Scott and Isaac were long gone. Scott had tried once to get Deaton to give up on Stiles as well, only to have the vet blithely tell Scott to go clean out the dog cages.

Lydia and Allison visited him often, and their friendship steadily grew as a result. When the pack got together to do strictly wolfy things, the girls spent time with Stiles. They never talked about monster stuff, although if one of the others did something stupid, or funny, Stiles was sure to hear about it.

He had no idea if Scott cared about the visits, or the stories, but Stiles suspected that the girls would do what they wanted regardless of the alpha’s opinion.

“Stiles, are you listening to me?”

Allison and Lydia had come over for a movie night, but mostly the three of them were crammed on the sofa chatting rather than watching the movie.

“Sorry, Lyds. What?” Lydia looked exasperated, but Allison was grinning, so Stiles figured that whatever she had been talking about wasn't life-threatening. He reached over them both to grab more popcorn. “I was just thinking about Scott. Is he still having trouble with Liam?”

Both girls frowned at him briefly before Allison smirked.

“Liam’s all right. He and Scott are going through some growing pains at the moment,” she said, eyes sparkling. “I think Liam misses you.”

“So does everyone else, though no one wants to admit it in front of Scott,” Lydia huffed.

Stiles grimaced and shoved his mouth full of popcorn. He didn't want to argue with Lydia, but he was pretty sure the pack was getting by fine without him. “So, Deaton told me that the Hales are still on their great long-lost relative search. They're in South Carolina right now, but he doesn't have any other information yet. Evidently, this great aunt is an off-the-grid type or something.”

“Does he know when they're coming home?” Allison asked.

“No, but if they're having this much trouble tracking her down, it will probably be a while.”

“Unless Deaton tells them about Scott kicking you out of the pack. Then they'll come and rescue you,” Lydia said knowingly. The potential Derek-Stiles-Peter love triangle was one of her favorite weekend talking points.

“I'm not a maiden to be fought over,” he grumbled, tossing a handful of popcorn at his friends.

“I don't know, Stiles,” Allison grinned. “I think you’d look pretty good in a dress and a tiara.”

Stiles felt absolutely no sympathy when Lydia fell off the sofa from laughing too hard.

<> <>

Just because Scott and Stiles had parted ways did not mean that Stiles would let his friends get killed if he could stop it. Which is why he went to speak with Chris as soon as he found out about the new hunters in town.

“Dad is keeping an eye on them, but so far they haven't broken any laws, so…”

“Ezra Crane is a hothead, just like his dad. Don't get mixed up with him if you don't have to,” Chris advised.

Just two days later, he had to.

Of the Beacon Hills werewolves, Isaac was the one most affected by Stiles's removal from the pack, a fact which surprised Stiles to no end. Their strangely antagonistic relationship should have fallen apart without Scott to push them together, yet Isaac kept showing up when Stiles was buying groceries, or at the mechanic, or the library. He rarely spoke to Stiles, and mostly just glared at him from across the room, but why would the wolf continually seek him out if he didn't care about the human?

Which is why Stiles didn't bother with small talk when the other boy jumped into his jeep right as Stiles was leaving the store and yelled at him to drive; he just gunned it towards the Preserve, heart pounding.

For the record, being in a car chase was not nearly as exciting as it seemed in the movies. Sure, it got the adrenaline pumping, but he and Isaac were definitely not action movie heroes, there was no cool soundtrack in the background, and his car was not really built for this kind of maneuvering.

In short, it really sucked.

“Can't you go any faster?” Isaac complained as soon as the bullets started flying.

“Would you like to get out and walk?” Stiles snarled, swerving to avoid a fallen log as they drove farther into the woods.

The blonde bit his lip and glanced back at the other cars. “I'm going to jump out. They're after me, not you. They’ll follow me.” He reached toward the door’s handle and jumped out before Stiles had a chance to stop him.

“Isaac!”

Stiles barely had time to see Isaac head deeper into the trees before gunshots rang out again, forcing him back to the situation at hand. He gasped at the sudden pain that flared in his shoulder and his hand jerked just enough to send the jeep headlong into a tree.

<> <>

Stiles woke up in the dark. For a moment, he thought he was in bed, but his hands only moved a few inches before hitting something solid. His left arm ached, but it wasn't enough to clear his head. He blinked to get his bearings, but there was nothing but darkness. His head throbbed.

He brought his right hand up again, his fingers lightly scratching against the wood around him. He vaguely remembered hitting the tree; had it hit the roof of his car? No, that didn't make sense. Had it gone through his windshield? That wasn't it, either, because the wood was behind him, too.

Thankfully, Stiles remembered the phone in his pocket. He could use the light from his phone to figure out where he was. It was a tight squeeze, but after some wiggling he held up his phone.

All the saw was wood. It was like he was in a box or something. Why would someone put him in a wooden box? That was dumb.

Oh. _Oh_.

This was bad. But it did explain why it was so dark and quiet.

He’d been buried alive. Depending on how long he’d been unconscious, he probably didn't have that much air left.

He spared a thought for Isaac, hoping that the other boy hadn't been buried alive as well, especially considering his past, before remembering his phone. Stiles barely suppressed a snort. His phone was almost dead, too.

Still, he could make a short call to someone. Who, though? Scott and the pack were out, he had told his dad he loved him that morning, so…

Bonnie might be able to magic him out of the situation, but she and Damon were finally pulling themselves back together and had enough to deal with at home. Even if they called someone to find him, the hunters wouldn't have made it that easy. There was no point in sending his dad into cardiac arrest over a lost cause.

There was only one choice, really, and to his relief, Derek picked up on the third ring.

“Stiles? Is everything okay?”

“What, I can't call my favorite werewolves to see how they're doing?” He shifted a fraction, trying to get more comfortable. As if that would help anything.

“...let me put you on speaker,” Derek was saying.

Peter's voice came a few seconds later. “It's good to hear from you, Stiles. How are you?”

“Hey, Stiles!” he heard Laura and Cora yell in the background. They sounded happy.

Stiles gave a breathy laugh. “I'm a little bit buried at the moment, but I'll be better soon.” he said.

He was getting sleepy, and a part of him just wanted to sink into it. If he was asleep, then he wouldn't hurt anymore. That would be nice. Dots were dancing in front of his eyes, and he let out a tiny moan.

If he didn't want to freak out his friends, he should probably hang up soon.

“Stiles, do you need help?” Peter's voice was sharp over the line, but it sounded farther away than it had a minute ago. He heard the other Hales making noises, too, but he couldn't really focus enough to figure out what they were saying.

“I just wanted to tell you guys that I love you,” he whispered, and hung up.

The phone rang, but Stiles didn't answer it, and it cut off after the third ring.

He closed his eyes.

<> <>

Derek cursed as yet another call went to Scott's voicemail. He could tell by looking at Peter and Cora’s faces that they weren't having any luck, either. What was going on in Beacon Hills that no one was answering their phones?

Laura was driving like the hounds of hell were after her, but nobody was complaining, even when she took turns too quickly and practically had them smashed them against the car doors. Everything in them was screaming at them to find Stiles. Even speeding, it would take them a couple of days to get home; that was way too long if Stiles was in immediate danger.

Hence, trying to get ahold of someone in Beacon Hills. Unfortunately, the entirety of the McCall pack seemed to be otherwise occupied. Derek bit back a growl, and tried calling Stiles again, only to nearly crack his phone when the call went straight to voicemail.

“Lydia?”

The other three Hales froze as Cora finally connected to someone at home.

“Lydia?” Cora tried again. “We think that Stiles is in trouble. What's going on?”

Peter and Derek exchanged worried looks when Lydia didn't answer. Then, “I don't want to scream. Don't make me scream. Please.”

“Lydia? Are you alright?”

“You should come home,” the girl advised softly before hanging up.

Laura gunned the engine.

<> <>

Bonnie knew that she was dreaming, but it didn't make her any less terrified. Everything was dark, and dank, and it was getting harder and harder to breathe. She pushed and pounded on the makeshift coffin around her, but the only thing it did was make her more tired, and she _knew_ that going to sleep right now was an awful idea. She yelled out for Damon and Kol, for anyone, but no one came to rescue her--

Bonnie surged up on the bed as she came awake, a scream in her throat and tears streaming down her cheeks. She felt movement on either side of her and heard someone throw open their bedroom door, but she blocked them all out while she tried to figure out what had happened. Instead, she squeezed her eyes shut and cast out her senses, trying to figure out what had caused her nightmare.

“Bon, are you okay?” Kol’s voice came to her ears, and she waved him off distractedly as she concentrated, only to have Damon grab her hand tightly.

“Just give me a minute,” she said.

It was easier than Bonnie expected to sink back into her nightmare, and with that ease came the terrible feeling of losing something vital. The witch grabbed her phone and started dialing, praying that she was wrong.

Her husbands watched as she dialed, only one of them recognizing the number. “Bonnie?” Damon asked hesitantly, ignoring the concerned looks the Mikaelsons shot them.

Damon and Bonnie exchanged worried looks as the line went straight to voicemail, dread rising. “Call Peter or Derek,” the vampire suggested. “They’ll be keeping an eye on him.”

Derek answered on the first ring. “Hey, Bonnie, I really can't talk right now--”

“Is Stiles with you?” she interrupted. The loud whine that came over the line made Bonnie flinch. “Where are you?”

“We’ve been searching for an estranged great aunt of ours.” Laura's shaky voice came over the line. “Stiles called a couple of hours ago, but he hung up on us.”

“And then Lydia told us to come home,” Derek added quietly.

“Oh,” Bonnie added, a little breathlessly, hearing Damon echo her response. They both understood the implications of a message like that from Lydia. “I had a dream,” she added uselessly, and the broken sob that came over the line this time had everyone cringing.

“We’ll be home in a few hours…” Derek trailed off, unsure of how to continue. If Bonnie was right, Stiles was already gone. They had never even told him how they felt, and now they would never get that chance.

“We’ll bring him back, Derek,” Damon promised. “We’ll figure something out. He did it for us; it's the least we can do.”

“Call us when you get there, okay?” Bonnie added gently.

The werewolf let out another choked-off sob before hanging up without another word.

At some point during the conversation, all of the Mikaelsons had pushed into the bedroom, and were eyeing Bonnie and Damon.

“What's going on?” Kol asked, touching both of his spouses in concern.

“When Bon was still trapped in the prison world,” Damon began, “I reached out to everyone I could to try and find answers. I got a phone call from a kid in California who said he could help and, long story short,” he paused, lost in thought until Bonnie squeezed his hand, “I'm not sure I could have saved her without him.”

“I think that it was Stiles's death that I dreamed,” Bonnie said, finally. “I want to save him.”

Kol smiled. Despite the circumstances, he was looking forward to meeting the man that had ultimately led his lovers to him. “It's a good thing more than one of us has risen from the dead, then. We’d best get started.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title comes from the poem "Echo" by Christina Rossetti.
> 
> Sorry! I hope you kind of liked it anyway. This fic, had it grown, would have been mostly about getting Stiles back (while dealing with the natural powder keg I see as Mikaelson/Hale interactions).
> 
> I hadn't decided on the pairing yet, but it would probably have been polyamory.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and I'll see you in October!


	11. rising, descending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tampering with Stiles’s memory was probably not the best idea the pack ever had, not just because they made him forget Peter, but because it made him forget other things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: Memory Alteration, Peter/Stiles
> 
> Sorry for the extended absence! Life got in the way (it’s still in the way, actually), and I haven’t posted for a long while. This was originally supposed to be the last story in the Stiles & Mikaelsons series, but I hated the ending when I reread it and couldn’t come up with a better one, so I chopped a few hundred words off the end and am throwing it up here instead.
> 
> I’ll tell you more in the end notes.

“Another restless night?” Freya asked, placing a concerned hand against Stiles's forehead before he could swat her away. She slid onto the stool next to him and gave him a gentle nudge where he was slumped over the counter. “I'm sure that we’ll find something soon.”

Stiles shrugged into his coffee, but he couldn't entirely stop himself from leaning against the witch next to him. The Mikaelsons had done more than enough for him already, taking in and looking after a complete stranger. He didn't remember much from those first few days--couldn't remember anything at all before coming to in the middle of the swamp, actually--but he remembered the Original family inexplicably herding him around like a baby chick, snarling at anything that came too close to the disoriented young man who had been found wandering aimlessly through the bayou.

The months that followed had been a never-ending cycle of forgotten nightmares, sleep deprivation, and nearly-constant attempts by the witches of the Quarter to get his memories back.

Based on the nightmares that had him screaming himself awake every other night (only to fade away as soon as he opened his eyes), Stiles was beginning to wonder if he wasn't better off _not_ knowing what had happened to him. It was getting bad enough that even Marcel had clucked disapprovingly at him the last time they’d seen each other.

Not to mention the constant feeling of wrongness that had been plaguing him for the past few weeks, even while he was awake. It wasn’t a case of losing time, but rather a sense that there were a host of memories in the back of his head, just out of reach, that didn’t _feel_ the same as the few snippets of things that Stiles could sense lingering just under the surface of his brain. Stiles had a feeling that whatever was hidden in that second layer of memories was the true secret of his past.

“Stiles?” Freya prodded.

“I feel like there's somewhere important I'm supposed to be,” he admitted, just in time for Nik and Elijah to frown at him as they entered the room. Stiles was almost offended—he didn’t look _that_ bad—but next to the Mikaelsons anyone would seem unimpressive.

“You're not going anywhere until we can be certain that you're not going to collapse the second you leave the house,” Niklaus announced, mimicking his sister's earlier actions with a palm to his forehead. “I'm not about to have all my work in keeping you alive undone because you're too stubborn to rest.”

Honestly, Stiles was too tired to physically roll his eyes, but he definitely pictured doing it in his head as he looked at the brothers. “I'm--”

“If you insist once again that you're fine,” Elijah interrupted, sharing an exasperated look with his siblings, “I’m going to lock you in your room until you rest. Your memories will hardly matter if you’re hallucinating from lack of sleep.”

“I know, I just…” Stiles resisted the urge to let himself face-plant into the bowl of oatmeal that was suddenly in front of him, and didn’t complain (out loud, anyway) when Klaus literally curled Stiles’s fingers around a spoon and moved to “guide” the younger man into eating.

He did scowl, though. Not that it did anything to wipe the smirk off of the hybrid’s face.

After a few bites where the siblings did nothing but watch him eat, Stiles let slip a little of what was bothering him. “The growling keeps me up, sometimes,” he muttered into his oatmeal.

“Growling?” Niklaus asked.

“Or the light,” Stiles added as he refilled his mug.

“Light?”

These tiny pieces of information were literally the only concrete descriptions Stiles had given of his nightmares. Even when he was just pulling himself together after waking, the most he had managed to share was that it was hot, almost like he had been burning.

More than once, Stiles had thrown himself out of the arms of whoever was comforting him and raced to the shower. Freya had taken to putting special soaps and herbs in the bathrooms to help calm the man down and encourage him back to bed, but otherwise, the most the siblings had been able to do for Stiles was make sure he didn't wander off again.

“Growling” and “light” weren't helpful clues by any means, but they were enough to give the family hope that their friend was getting closer to regaining his memories.

“I have a ritual I want to try,” the witch said finally. “Just the four of us--” she waited for Stiles’s reluctant nod, “and if it doesn't work, we’ll stop for a while, all right?”

 <> <>

Stiles came awake to the feeling of fingers gently carding through his hair, and voices speaking in low tones around him.

“...I would have found him sooner,” a voice was saying, “but I had to make sure that the rest of them wouldn't follow me. If I had known what they’d done--”

“Peter?”

Stiles opened his eyes to the sight of Peter Hale laid out next to him on the bed, face inches away from his.

“You're safe,” Stiles breathed. “It worked.”

“It did,” the werewolf agreed solemnly. “I should have known something was wrong when you left town so abruptly, but I was so angry that you didn't take me with you…”

The details were still hazy, but Stiles could remember his plan to get Peter out of Eichen House, and how adamantly everyone else had been against the idea. They had underestimated Stiles, though, and when he had gotten close anyway, they had…

 _They had cursed him, taken his memories away. By the time Peter had freed himself, Stiles had almost completely forgotten him_.

Stiles whimpered as memories continued to assault him, and his werewolf clutched him and whispered gentle assurances and promises to to never let the young man out of his sight again. He felt another hand grip his ankle, and Stiles recognized the touch of Elijah's hand without looking.

A flash of something old and powerful raced through his mind, a clash of swords and the brush of feathers, and--

Stiles's eyes flew open once more, and he lurched into sitting position to stare at the Mikaelsons in the room--who were watching him with open concern--then at the werewolf.

He wasn't sure what the expression on his face was, but the way everyone's gazes immediately sharpened made him shiver.

Just for a second, they reminded him of other eyes and other faces.

“How did you find me?” he asked quietly.

Peter titled his head at Stiles, mouth pulled into a frown. How much was still missing from the young man's memory?

“I followed your spark,” he answered, sharing a weighty gaze with Freya. They had used the two days Stiles had been unconscious to compare notes, and had decided that it was also the man’s spark that had both sought out the Mikaelsons’ help and tried to give him hints about the past.

After all, the pack could tamper with Stiles’s mind, but they couldn't suppress his soul.

Stiles's shoulder blades itched, and his palms tingled. He hid a grin; despite everything that had happened in his family, he was excited about what would come next.

“Has anyone else come looking for me?” he questioned.

Stiles pushed himself out of bed, ignoring the disgruntled noises from everyone else as he started to pull on jeans and a shirt, determined to look as casual as possible for whoever dropped by to see him.

He didn't want them to think for one second that he regretted his choice.

Peter got up as well, frowning as Stiles moved about the room. “I made sure that the pack can't track us,” the werewolf reassured.

“Are you in danger?” Nik wanted to know. “What do you remember?”

Stiles offered his friends a reassuring smile as he sank back down on the bed, squeezing Nik’s shoulder to get him to sit down, and grabbing Peter's hand to pull him down next to Stiles. Elijah and Freya sat much more gracefully, but their eyes were trained on the man before them.

“Normally, what Scott and the others did wouldn't have affected me as strongly as it did, but the spell didn't work quite the way it was supposed to, and I was busy dealing with the Eichen House mess, so I didn't notice its effects in time to stop it.” He chuckled ruefully. “What Deaton had been calling my spark is actually my grace.”

Elijah--the only one who had heard the term before--drew a sharp breath that had everyone turning to the even-tempered Original.

Before anyone could demand an explanation, however, the five of them were standing outside, staring at a tall, dark-haired man wearing a suit and a devilish grin. The moment he saw Stiles, his jaw dropped and _were those tears in his eyes_?

“ _Brother_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally supposed to have a minor Supernatural crossover at the end, but it didn’t really work out, in my opinion. I switched to Lucifer instead, but I still couldn’t figure out quite what to do with it without making you wait even longer. I might come back to it later.
> 
> If you read the other story I posted today, you know that I’m not going back to weekly postings, but I will be putting a few more things out over the next few days before I disappear again for a couple more months. Look for Bleach, Avengers, and more TW stuff soon. I will also be (slowly) responding to comments.
> 
> Thanks for your understanding and support, and thanks for reading!


End file.
